The Final Deduction
by gopadfoot
Summary: Sherlock makes a final deduction about Mycroft after The Final Problem. Spoilers! This fic focuses on the brothers' relationship after the events of S4e3. It also includes both of them interacting with other characters who have been affected by the latest events. Brotherly love and angst ahead! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**The Final Deduction**

Mycroft looked up warily at the sound of approaching footsteps. It was highly improbable that Eurus had come to haunt him again, yet the most obvious conclusion was one he liked even less. His little brother always did have the worst timing.

Sherlock took a few seconds to look his brother over. The deductions he made were so obvious, even Andersen with a blindfold on couldn't fail to see it. The creased suit, Mycroft's hunched over position on the sofa, his bloodshot eyes lined with purple bags, combined with the stubble on his chin, told the tale of the breakdown of the British Government.

"Allow me to make a deduction, brother dear," the younger man spoke up. The older man did not respond, so the younger one stared straight into his eyes and continued, his voice as soft and serious as it could ever be.

" _Every path you've ever taken, every choice you've ever made—the man you are today, was guided by your interactions with Eurus."_

"Why…" started Mycroft, then trailed off. "Why are you throwing my words back at me? Is this some kind of revenge?"

"It's the truth, pure and simple. Now that I have the facts, it allows to make some deductions and reach the obvious conclusions. You weren't always the way you are now, an ice man and loner. You obviously care about your family, and you have an actual, beating heart. I will tell you what I assume happened and you can correct me if I'm wrong."

"Sherlock, I do believe I've had my share of scoldings to last me a while, why don't you just go play some deduction games with your little doctor friend and leave us grownups in peace," Mycroft interrupted him with his most condescending sneer.

Sherlock gave a half smile and responded, "Because I need to say it, brother mine, and you need to hear it." Taking a deep breath, he began.

"When you were seven years old, I was born. Being an older brother gave you a sense of responsibility, and you made it your mission to protect me. One year later, Eurus was born. Quite soon afterward, it became apparent that she was different. You were the one who came closest to understanding her, because of your extraordinary mind and talents. Our parents had a hard time dealing with your differences, but were completely lost when it came to Eurus. So you did what any proper older brother would do—you made it your responsibility to take care of her and help her.

Your job became infinitely more complicated. Now you had to watch over another sibling, and not only that, but protect one sibling from the other. You realized early on the our sister was not only capable, but willing, to hurt others weaker than her."

Mycroft sat mutely on the sofa, his expression blank, only his eyes betraying a trace amount of confusion and hurt, as Sherlock went on:

"You cared about her. You tried desparately to save her from herself, yet you couldn't figure her out. When she cut herself that time, our parents and all professionals tried to figure why she tried to kill herself, but you were the only one who understood that she must have had different intentions. She tried to explain herself to you when she was younger, but eventually gave up when she realized even you didn't understand.

"You were a teenager when the incident with, you know, that…Sorry, it's still difficult for me to process what happened, but once you realized what she had done to him, to our parents, _to me,_ you made the most difficult decision in your life: to rip out a part of your heart, to stop caring about your sister, to ensure the rest of the family was safe.

"Mummy and Daddy were brokenhearted when they took her away, and never made peace with what she had become. They were somewhat in denial about her condition, talking about their hopes for her being cured, dreaming about bringing their little girl home. They visited on rare occasions, and came back home each time devastated when she didn't acknowledge them.

"Then came a time when you were an adult, and our parents requested you keep an eye on her. With Uncle Rudy's help, you climbed the rungs in the government, and had access to more records and classified information. You must have found out some shocking information about our sister, which led you to recommend her transfer to Sherrinford, and then lied to our parents to spare them the heartbreak of what their daughter had turned into.

"While you were protecting our parents, you kept a close eye on me, swearing to yourself that you would do better by your other sibling, and not let me break. Our parents were again lost by my reactions to the incident, but only you could somewhat understand my unique mind. You realized I had manipulated my own memories, and resolved to let it be while watching for any signs of memory resurgence.

"You have been following and protecting me my entire life, yet you can't let yourself show that you actually care. You have cared for someone and been let down horrifically, having to take action against someone you loved. You numbed your heart because you can't bear to be let down again, and built walls so nothing can touch you, as you are terrified of becoming like Eurus, or even me. Yet you can's stop caring, because you _do_ have a heart somewhere, as you have pointed out several weeks ago in that prison."

Sherlock stopped his monologue and leaned against the wall, waiting. "So why have you come to tell me all this? I am not one of your silly clients and I don't need to hear deductions about my _heart_ or whether it exists. I would appreciate if you got to the _point,_ brother mine" Mycroft burst out petulantly.

"Is it true or not? Answer that first" Sherlock demanded. Mycroft smiled in his typically condescending manner and responded "Alright. You're mostly correct. I won't tell you what exactly Eurus did or tried to do to you, as it's the stuff of some of my nightmares. I did care for her, and our parents were in a fragile emotional state for a long while. If you want to know, I deduced that she had gotten at least three residents of her former residence to commit suicide and one to commit homicide on another by choking him with his bare hands. What frankly alarmed me the most was the thought of her trying to get revenge on our parents or you for abandoning her. So I sentenced my own sister to hell."

"Wrong." Sherlock interrupted him. "You said you cared for her. You still do. You feel guilty for locking her up. You still tried to talk to her, even gave her the violin, and don't tell me it was about some silly government mission."

"I try not to, but that's not how sentiment works, unfortunately. Now, why are you telling me all this, besides for trying to prove how clever you are?"

"Because I want to say something I don't believe I've ever told you before." Sherlock stepped forward and leaned forward. "Thank you. Thank you, brother mine. Thank you for taking upon your shoulders the burden of protecting your family. Thank you for all those times you worried about me, and all those times you extricated me from hopeless situations. Thank you for sticking by me, even when I rejected your help and resented your presence."

There was an odd sheen in Mycroft's eyes and a slight tremor in his hands. Sherlock knelt down and gently took his brother's hands in his. Mycroft stiffened, but did not pull away. "There's something else I need to tell you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not realizing you were carrying such a burden. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for never appreciating how much you cared for me, how much you cared about me.

"I was upset at you for lying to me. I was upset at what you did to Eurus. I let you be scolded by our parents. I was an idiot that didn't see that you had done the very best you could. Recently, I told someone else to look after you because I couldn't be bothered. After all those times you saved me from my messes, I wasn't there for you the one time you needed me." His voice broke a little. "I'm sorry, Mycroft."

Mycroft still didn't speak, but slowly squeezed his hands. Sherlock suddenly smiled mischievously and said, "You know, saying all these sweet things is getting quite dull. I think I'll do an experiment." He quickly stood up, tugging Mycroft along with him. He removed his hands from his brother's hold and suddenly threw them around him. Mycroft sputtered a moment before sighing "Oh, Sherlock…" and gently putting his arms around his brothers head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder. He picked up one hand and slowly ran it along the dark curls, up and down for several moments. The wetness in his eyes was starting to spill over, yet he didn't pay it heed.

"I used to do this for you when you were younger, when you were younger. Until you stopped letting me…when you changed." Mycroft spoke quietly. "You have erased many memories of your past, not just the traumatic ones. You recreated your past in your mind to suit what was in the present, to make life less confusing."

"I'm starting to remember things…bits and pieces- it's hard…figuring out what's real and what's fake," Sherlock babbled into his brother's shoulder, before releasing a sob.

"Shhh, little brother, we'll figure it out. Don't trouble that idiot brain of yours now," the older one murmured, while starting to rub circles onto the younger ones back. "I was here for you before, and I'll always be there you." They held their embrace for several long minutes while the sobbing subsided, while the elder's tears had managed to stop their silent descent. "This time, I want to be there for you to," Sherlock whispered, and his brother rubbed his hair again. "We'll be there for each other, brother mine."

Much later, when they had finished the tea Mycroft had managed to make and spent the morning in games of deduction, Mycroft asked, "So, will you tell me what experiment you were talking about earlier, Sherlock?"

Sherlock got his familiar grin back on his face when he answered, "Oh, I've been hugging all sorts of different people lately. Let's see, there was that serial killer that nearly killed me, that psychopath of a sister that nearly killed me, that army doctor colleague who also nearly killed me… So I figured, why not try to hug one more person who wants to kill me, and see if I actually end up dead this time?"

"Goodbye, brother mine," Mycroft responded in his most dangerous tone, as Sherlock watched him reach for… "NO! Not the brolly! Please, anything but the brolly!" he begged, while quickly running to hide behind the sofa.

"You shouldn't have sent a CLOWN after me!" Mycroft yelled. They were both silent a moment, Sherlock peeking out from behind the sofa, and then simultaneously burst into laughter. It was good to laugh again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oi, Mikey!" Sherlock called. Mycroft stifled a groan. His efforts to help his brother had boomeranged, and he had only himself to blame. "I do prefer Mycroft," he said pleasantly, before grumbling, "Even the time you called me 'bro' was preferable. Besides, it _is_ childish, don't you agree?"

Mycroft and Sherlock had developed a system to help Sherlock sort his memories. The process included having the younger brother enter his mind palace and extract memories from his younger years. He shared them with Mycroft, and compared his own memories with his brother's recollections where applicable. Eventually, they discovered certain markers to his modified memories—they were less detailed, blurrier, and sometimes got cut off at pivotal points. Sometimes, Mycroft's reminiscing would serve as a trigger that would bring the whole memory back. Other times, Sherlock would retreat into his mind palace again and try to find more clues by repeating key words, such as 'Eurus', 'Redbeard', and 'Victor'.

Most of the memories were happily innocent. The usual antics he and Victor got up to, digging in sand and tracking mud. Memories of Eurus challenging him to find a treasure by giving him clues as weird and as complicated and she was, like chicken bones and old shoes, accompanied by notes of numbers and letters.

Some memories were different. Then he would come out of his mind palace, gasping, to find Mycroft squeezing his shoulders and gently calling his name. He would always ask if Sherlock was sure if he wanted to continue, and he would always respond that he wanted the truth, whether it was pure and simple or not. He knew now that his sister had made him steal things for her, lie to their parents for her, and basically follow her whims and fancies. The worst part was when she made him hurt himself, like when she convinced him to climb a tree and jump off. He had luckily only broken a leg, and she of course, had made it all seem like an accident.

He would stop by Mycroft's mansion two or three times a week, but sometimes they would choose to engage in different activities, such as chess (Mycroft still won two out of three times, that ba***). Other times Sherlock would present a recent case and try to get Mycroft's take on it. While Mycroft would initially be reluctant, he would cooperate after some urging. It took both brothers a bit of time to get used to their new relationship, which was more open and definitely more affectionate than they were used to. The older one persevered for the sake of his younger brother, still feeling responsible for the part he played in recent events. The younger brother made an effort for the older ones sake, knowing his involvement would help the man heal.

Sherlock was slowly returning to his regular lifestyle, or as ordinary as life can be for the world's only consulting detective. When he barged in that day, it was with the sudden realization that he would have to smooth over several more rough patches in order to comfortably continue his new/old lifestyle. And he would need to get his brother involved.

"Alright, _Mycroft,_ brother mine, whatever you wish to call yourself today, I hope you had a nice time with Alicia yesterday at the _Bon Soir._ I _am_ pretty disappointed that you only ordered her some cheap cabernet sauvignon, you could have done much better that that. Oh, and you put on some weight, I'd say approximately three and a half pounds, Alicia won't appreciate that."

Mycroft's face was a sight to behold, thought Sherlock, as he continued, "It's obvious of course from the lovely scent of Claire de la Lune on your evening jacket, and the drip of wax on your sleeve, lavender scented, a staple of the _Bon Soir._ Your evening jacket is still hanging on the chair, which means you wore it yesterday, and haven't yet had a chance to send it to the cleaners. The wine bottle in the fridge is not one of your usual choices, you must have brought it home because you do so hate to waste resources…"

"When you have finished dissecting my personal life, feel free to get to the point," Mycroft interrupted crossly.

"Oh, I just need you to hop over with me to Baker Street to look at some evidence I got, it might be the work of an international crime syndicate, than again, it might not. I thought your familiarity with Scandinavian would be a big help, there seems to be some sort of code based on that language."

"Why don't you just bring it here then?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to temper with the evidence, and besides, I'm waiting to see what excuse you'll come up with this time. Emergency at work? Nah, you used that at least three times already. Headache? Terror alert? Or will you just confess the truth this time?"

"Well, okay, I would not want to interrupt your happy little domain with my malfeasant presence. Happy now?" Mycroft sneered condescendingly.

"So just because you don't want to face John—"

"I didn't say anything about Dr. Watson. I could have just come at the times he is home if that would be my issue."

Sherlock stared at him contemplatively for a moment, before asking quietly "What, exactly, did she say to you?"

"Who?"

"Lady Brecknell. Come _on_ , Mycroft, I'm not that stupid. There's only one other person living there full time, and I want to know why you're avoiding her."

"The truth," Mycroft whispered. "She saw right through me. She has made it clear that she does not want me on her property, and I do not want to infringe on her wishes. I also think that Dr. Watson would appreciate if I kept my distance."

"Well, that's just too bad, because I already ordered a cab, and you are coming with me now to sort this out. Unless you want to call one of your goons in a spooky black car?"

"We prefer the term 'civil servants'" the British Government replied pompously. "Though really, of what use is it to you to have me over?"

"I want my brother to feel comfortable in my own home. I don't want the people I care about to be locked in unending strife. I want to make several morons get over themselves and stop their petty conflicts so the rest of us can go back to wearing our nicotine patches in peace. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes, well, and then we'll have rainbows in the sky and peace and love for all."

"Just come with me this once, brother mine, and then I'll leave you alone. I'll take any cases you want for a month, I will ignore your blossoming romance with Lady Smallwood for two, I won't tattle to Mummy about your smoking for three. Just, come now, please?"

After a minute of stubborn silence, Mycroft stood up and stretched his arms. Fetching his umbrella in his right hand, he placed his left hand on his brother's arm and declared, "For the sake of Queen and Country, I will do my part to bring peace to the world. Lead the way, brother mine."

Sherlock grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi, everyone! This chapter is a further exploration of the two brother's developing relationship. Additionally, it explores their relationship with a third character, that of our beloved Mrs. Hudson. I am thinking of writing similar one-shots about the brothers trying to work out things with other character's, such as John and the Holmes parents. Do you want me to continue in this vein? Is there something else you'd like to see happening in their developing relationship? Please drop me a review.

P.S. This is my first fanfic, and I'd love to receive feedback. Which parts did you like? Which parts did you not like? I cannot make any deductions until you review So go ahead, I'm waiting!

 **Chapter Three**

Not two minutes after the brothers had settled down at 221b, (Sherlock had nearly dragged Mycroft up the stairs), Mrs. Hudson's distinctive tread was heard on the staircase. From out of the corner of one eye, Sherlock observed the glare the feisty older woman gave his brother, and waited for the inevitable showdown. This was going to be fun.

"I see that the seating arrangements have changed from the last time" she said sweetly. "I do think the client chair was more suitable. Never mind, can I get you some tea, Sherlock? I'm afraid I'm running short, I do only have one cup left."

Sherlock turned head and smiled at the older woman. "I do appreciate, Mrs. Hudson, but I think Mycroft needs it more right now."

Mycroft, who was staring blankly at the wall, interrupted, "You should really stop doing that, it's not your responsibility to stick up for me. I know when I'm not wanted, and I can live with that." Turning to the landlady, he said, "I do not wish to impose, I just have some business to finish up with my brother, and then I shall be leaving." He continued staring at the wall.

Sherlock shook his head in exasperation. "Mrs. Hudson, you know you're like a second mother to me," he said fondly. "I know that you and Mycroft have some history between you, but I always thought you sort of liked him in a way. I would like it if my only brother would be able to drop in for a cup of tea once in a while, without danger of exploding under your fiery glares."

Mrs. Hudson's glare turned into a look of surprise and confusion. Mycroft spoke up quietly, "You can't expect her to serve hot beverages to a cold blooded organism. Don't press the issue, she has the right to dislike me. My behavior has been reprehensible at times. This is all my fault."

Mrs. Hudson's gaped at Mycroft speechlessly. She had never heard him apologize before, except under duress, and definitely not admit to human failings. Sherlock looked thoughtful before breaking into a grin. "You called him a reptile, didn't you, Mrs. Hudson?" he exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, I wish I could have seen the look on his face. That must have been awesome!"

"Do shut up, Sherlock" Mycroft said tightly. Sherlock burst into laughter, getting his words out between chuckles. "Oh Mrs. Hudson, you have no idea. You just have no idea at all." His laughter suddenly turned hysterical as he repeated. "You have no idea at all."

Mycroft looked at his brother in concern. Sherlock had exhibited some pretty major mood swings since the big revelations of several weeks ago. It had taken the efforts of all his loved ones to stop him from using again. Watson and the landlady had kept a close eye on him, and Mycroft had gotten several emergency visits from his distraught brother when their efforts weren't enough to control his urges. Mycroft had helped stabilize him by using his mind palace to meditate. When that wasn't enough, he would just hold his brother in his arms and tell that he was strong and would get through it. He surprised himself with his pathetic displays of sentiment, but was even more surprised by the fact that his brother accepted it from him. He was afraid of the consequences of letting himself feel such dangerous emotions. Nevertheless, he couldn't deny that he felt more fulfilled—and happier—than he could ever remember feeling.

Now his brother's laughter had an hysterical edge to it, and he feared for his stability. No matter how much Sherlock had grown in the last few years, he was still human and had his breaking points, and Mycroft would continue to look after him. Getting up, he approached his brother. He wanted to put a hand on his little brother's shoulders, but wouldn't go so far as display affection with company present. Instead, he bent down to eye level and told him firmly, "Sherlock, calm down. Perhaps you would mind explaining what you find so amusing?"

"You!" Sherlock pointed to his big brother. "And you!" he pointed to Mrs. Hudson. "You always acted like such a coldhearted bas***, I think even you yourself bought it. You were always so smug, believing everyone beneath you, and you seemed to treat people like insignificant pawns. But you've deceived us all along. And I can prove it."

Sherlock was now half laughing and half sobbing. Mycroft stood at a loss, before responding, "Ok, prove whatever you like, just take a deep breath and come down before I call the medics."

Sherlock's laughter subsided, and he paused to catch his breath. Mrs. Hudson was still gaping, but had made herself comfortable on a chair and watched the byplay. "Two words. The governor." He paused. "And his wife, if you need further proof. Mrs. Hudson," he faced the older woman, turning away from his brother's ashen face. "There were three men in a room. Two had the choice of saving a life by committing cold blooded murder. They both refused, but only one of them refused to even look at the weapon provided, shouting that he would never have blood on his hands. Three men watched an horrific forced suicide, and only one of them cried, and even lost his breakfast. Those same three man then watched a gratuitous homicide, and again, only one of them lost it again."

"Enough, Sherlock. My having a sensitive digestive system doesn't prove anything but that I am a coward. I've always been a bit affected by violence and blood. I didn't exactly help anyone with my emotional responses."

"Perhaps, but you did prove capable of experiencing human emotions. And if that's true, your further actions are all the less comprehensible and all the more noble."

"Pardon me dear, but you didn't ever tell me exactly what happened to all of you in that horrid place." Mrs. Hudson interrupted. Her voice was faint. "I can't believe you were put through all that, you poor dears…" She shook her head sadly at both of them, and Mycroft realized in surprise that she had included him in her endearment.

"Wait, there's more, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock continued. Mycroft interrupted him, "Sherlock, you really shouldn't be traumatizing your landlady like this. This is enough!"

"No, I think she needs to hear this," he responded. "Well, I don't need to be present for this," Mycroft muttered, getting up, intent on making his escape. His little brother grabbed him by his shoulder and forced him back into his chair.

"Yes, you do. Now, do you know what this utter moron tried to do that day, Mrs. Hudson? He tried to get to shoot him. You hear that? I was actually about to kill my own brother, and this idiot was goading me."

"Why would he do that?" Mrs. Hudson spluttered. "That's ridiculous. You would never be able to do that, would you?"

"I couldn't, of course. Eurus made me choose between him and John, and Mycroft decided that his life was dispensable because of some little guilt complex he has. Then he baited me with ridiculous taunts, hoping that he could incite me to shoot him, to make it easier for me."

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, who was biting his lips and visibly tamping down his emotions. "That was stupid, of course. I saw right through him. You know what this knob head did afterwards? He very nicely requested that I shoot him, tried to convince me that he deserved it, and he just stood there _smiling_! The man who was terrified getting blood on his hands, was standing in front of me with as much poise as he ever had, _joking_ about me blowing his brains out, smiling like a politician posing for the cameras!"

Sherlock began chuckling again, and his laughter again turned manic. This incident was one he had been unable to deal with, and hadn't talked about it with anyone since it happened. His laughter suddenly turned to rage as the trauma of that event caught up with him. He stalked over to his brother and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard. "HOW COULD YOU!" he roared. "HOW COULD YOU LAUGH IN MY FACE WHILE EXPECTING ME TO MURDER MY OWN BROTHER!"

"I had to!" Mycroft responded, gasping. "I wanted you to see that I was okay with what was happening! I wanted your last image of me to be of a man who was happy with where he was going. I didn't want you to ever doubt that you did the right thing. I wanted you to be at peace with what happened!"

"YOU #$%$ IDIOT!" Sherlock continued to shake him. "DID YOU REALLY THINK I COULD EVER LIVE WITH MYSELF AFTER I HAD DONE THAT?! YOU ARE EITHER INSANE OR YOU NEVER HAD A HEART AT ALL!"

"I-had-to-try" Mycroft choked out. "I-didn't-see-another-option!"

In response, Sherlock punched him in the face.

"Now leave your brother alone, Sherlock, I think he's received the message already," Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock deflated and looked down at his seated brother sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Mycroft." "Not at all," his brother responded. "You needed to get that out of your system, I suppose. Though I do deduce you're glad you didn't follow my advice?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Very funny, brother mine. I do like to have you around as my punching bag. It's a good distraction."

Mycroft contemplated his brother's face before getting up. He gently put an arm on his little brother's shoulder, before, murmuring, "It's alright, Sherlock, I'll never do it again. Calm down." Sherlock threw his arms around his big brother and buried his face in his shoulder. Mycroft patted his curls, then turned his gaze to Mrs. Hudson and whispered, "He's could be so foolishly sentimental at times, you know."

Mrs. Hudson not-so-discreetly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I… I'll just go make some tea, shall I? You look like you could use some." She paused, "Both of you, I mean."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I hope you like this chapter, which contains a showdown between John and Mycroft. I find their relationship to be fascinating; two people who usually don't see eye-to-eye, yet share the same goal of protecting and helping the person they both care about. Please let me know how you liked it. Your reviews inspire and motivate me

It was two weeks after Mycroft's last visit when Sherlock put his next scheme into action. Mycroft had been given the ultimatum (come over tonight or I'm staying away until you do), and John was to be the unsuspecting victim. He had come over with Rosie, planning to stay the weekend in his old room. Mrs. Hudson had gleefully arranged a crib and all baby paraphernalia. It would be almost like the old times, and John was looking forward to it.

Five minutes before his brother's ETA, Sherlock casually mentioned to his friend, "Oh, Mycroft's coming over in a few, do try to be civil."

John looked up in surprise. "I know you've gone over to his place several times, I assume about family matters, any reason he's coming here?"

"Any reason?" Sherlock shot back. "For one, he happens to be my brother. An annoying, coldhearted bas*** of a brother, but still my family. And I know you've got some issues with him, well, so do I. He's interfering, condescending, sometimes outright despicable, though he did save my life so many times I lost count—"

"No, you didn't," A smug voice came from the doorway. "I know you keep score, you have it written down somewhere."

Sherlock looked up to see his brother standing in the doorway, leaning slightly on his ever present umbrella. "Fine, it's thirty six times."

"Forty two." Mycroft shot back. "Well, you know that time in Serbia didn't count, I could have gotten out on my own. At that time by the Thames was your fault to be—"

"You're wrong." Mycroft was scanning a small black book in his hands. "It was you who started—"

"You were the one who—"

"Enough!" John interrupted the brewing argument. "You guys are simply unbelievable. I've heard of keeping score, but this is too much. You actually write this stuff down?"

Sherlock stared at his friend in befuddlement. "Of course we do! As well as any favor done, including the level of magnitude. How else would we know when we're even?"

"Of course, the balance is in my favor now," Mycroft looked pleased at the thought. "My little brother will need to work hard to compensate."

John shook his head in despair. "You know, in ordinary families…Never mind. So, can I help you, or do you two need a minute?" John turned to Mycroft.

Rosie chose that moment to start whimpering in her baby swing. Sherlock picked her up and held her out to her brother. "Say hello to uncle Mycroft, Rosie!" he cooed.

"What are you playing at, Sherlock?" Mycroft was aghast.

"Well, I'm the Godfather, and you're my brother, so that makes you an uncle. Would you like to hold your niece?" When Mycroft just continued to stare at him, a horrified look on his face, Sherlock turned to John, "Isn't it amazing how a man who could start three wars within three minutes is terrified of holding an infant?" He shot a smug smile at his brother.

The newly dubbed uncle reached out to the infant and took her gently in his arms. He scrutinized her for a moment, and remarked, "She's grown quite a bit since I saw that picture of her. She's cutting a new tooth, probably keeping you up at night, and has begun pulling herself forward with her hands but does not crawl on her knees yet. Let's see… she's a bit on the smaller side for her age, that's to be expected considering her genetics. Overall, she seems quite healthy and developing well for her age."

"When did you become an expert on babies?" Sherlock demanded in surprise. John just shook his head again mutely. "Well, I did feed you your bottles when Mummy needed a break. Eurus too. She was, I must say, reasonably well behaved, drank her bottles calmly and burped on demand. You, on the other hand, were quite a fussy child. You tended to throw up all over my clothes, ruined several pairs of them…" he trailed of, his face contemplative as he recalled memories of long ago. "Does she tend to that to, Dr. Watson?"

"I'll just take her now" the doctor said hastily. "Actually, would you mind taking her, Sherlock? Go down with her to Mrs. Hudson or something, I believe we adults need to have a conversation," Mycroft said.

With a grandiose wave, Sherlock departed, leaving the two remaining men in uncomfortable silence. Mycroft was the first to break it, saying, "Dr. Watson. I believe I owe you a great debt for your invaluable assistance during our recent crisis. Your behavior was exemplary. I apologize to you for the role I played in those events."

I appreciate your kind words but let's cut out the formalities." John retorted. He leaned forward. "I just don't understand you. How could you have lied like that to Sherlock? How could you have manipulated him like that all those years?"

Mycroft smiled tensely, then took a deep breath. "It really is an internal family matter, but I know my brother considers you family. I will therefore endeavor to answer some of your questions, difficult as that is for me. However, you need to accept that there are some issues I cannot disclose without violating the privacy of other family members."

"Fine, so tell me about Sherlock. What happened to him after that traumatic events?"

The government man leaned back and closed his eyes. He began speaking slowly, in a low tone. "Sherlock was hysterical after Victor disappeared. He spent most of his time either crying, or frantically digging around in the earth, trying to find the clues our sister kept dropping. He was inconsolable. Shortly afterwards, our mansion burnt down, and we moved to a new place, only the four of us this time, without Eurus. Those changes were like an overload on an already fragile system, and Sherlock simply shut down. He was near catatonic. He didn't talk, or eat, or interact at all. He was hospitalized, put on different meds, had all kinds of different therapies. Slowly, he came out of his shell, and began talking again. Yet his personality was never the same.

"He recognized my parents and me, yet he never mentioned Eurus or Victor. The therapists recommended against bringing up their names, for fear that it would send him into another crisis. We took him home, and waited for him to ask about them. He never did.

"Several months later, I was reading Sherlock a story about a boy who had a pet dog. He was a prolific reader, of course, yet enjoyed being read to, so we would occasionally indulge him. He asked me, 'Did we ever have a dog, Mycroft? I think I remember playing with it. I remember running into the creek with it, splashing around in the water…'"

"I asked him if he remembered its name and after a moment of thought he answered 'Redbeard'. I was startled, and deflected the question. I told my parents, and they consulted the professionals. They were all at a loss. They had never encountered such a situation before. I then took it upon myself to monitor him, hoping I would be able to help him if his memories ever resurfaced."

"Oh my God," the doctor muttered. "But what about your parents? Why did you lie to them like that? And how could you treat your own sister like that?"

Mycroft's tone hardened, "I'm afraid I cannot answer the first question, as that involves the aforementioned invasion of privacy. As for my sister, what exactly would you have done in my position, Dr. Watson? You have seen for yourself what she is capable of."

"What if she was shown more love? Look at how Sherlock got through to her, with a little compassion."

"You're wrong John," voice came from the doorway. "I'm really sorry to interrupt, I just came to take a change of clothing for Rosie, and I caught your last sentence. You're a really good man John, you only see the best in everyone, but you need to open your eyes now.

"Eurus has a very fractured psyche, she cannot understand love like regular people do. I would love for all of us to live happily ever after, yet I have to accept it will never happen. Eurus's love for me, and her obsessive need for my attention, has cost too many lives. That almost included yours," Sherlock shuddered.

"Sentiment can be a dangerous thing." Mycroft spoke up. "In this case, Eurus caring for Sherlock has put him and those he's attached to in great danger. Eurus is incapable of empathizing with anyone, and her love is all about her, what she wants to get. She has put Sherlock through torture in order to get his attention, and she would continue to manipulate him if we weren't careful. As hard as it was for me to send her to that place, I will always place the safety of others first."

"I do understand that." John conceded.

"We're not finished yet. Would you please go downstairs and _stay there_?" Mycroft hissed. Sherlock waved again and sauntered out. John looked up at Mycroft, a shudder running through his spine at the ominous look the other man was giving him.

"I regret having to do this, yet I feel this is important. Please listen to this now," the British Government demanded, handing the doctor a small recording device with an earpiece. John put it in his ear and switched it on with trepidation.

" _Say it for me,"_ A silky smooth voice which John did not instantly recognize.

" _I don't want to die,"_ Sherlock! Oh, God, what in the world?!

" _And again," "I don't want to die."_

" _Very good…and one more time."_

" _I don't…(voice breaking) want… to… die…"_

John ripped the earpiece out. "What the hell!" he demanded, voice shaking.

"That's Culverton Smith and my brother, moments before the homicide attempt."

"And why in the world are you making me listen to this now?" John raged. "Okay, I get it. I beat him up badly. I deserve to hear this. I was in distress, but I should have controlled myself."

"That is only a small part of the problem, Dr. Watson." Mycroft said coldly. "Believe me, I can understand that urge, I have experienced it myself on occasion, it's a miracle I have managed to restrain myself until now. This is about the reason of his involvement in the first place.

"He did this for you. You need to understand the power you have over my brother. He cares little about what anyone thinks of him, including yours truly. You, however, he values your opinion above his own life. If you believe him to be a murderer, he will believe it of himself. If he thinks you believe him to be worthy of death, he will take it, no matter how much he still wants to live."

Mycroft softened his tone. "Dr. Watson, I am forever in your debt for what you have done for my brother. You have managed to do the impossible, and save Sherlock from himself. You stood by him despite all the pain he caused you, you never gave up on him despite his shenanigans. He has begun to trust again, and the credit is all yours." Mycroft paused.

"Which is exactly why he trusts you so much. And that's why you need to be careful about how you treat him, before something happens which you will both regret."

"I already told him he didn't kill Mary," John looked stricken. "She gave his life for him, it was her choice."

"You need to do better than that. Sherlock is still eating himself up with guilt about putting her in that position. Have you ever considered how many times he actually saved her before that happened? Did you consider how much Sherlock sacrificed to keep you all safe? I daresay you can give him credit for your daughter being born at all."

John gaped as the realization hit him. Of course, Magnussen! Sherlock shot a man, fully intending to live with the grave consequences. All for Mary's sake. He had flown all over the world to track down Mary to keep her safe. And that was after Mary had shot him… Sherlock had perhaps miscalculated, but he had been trying pretty darned hard.

"You need to tell him that. You are the only one who he will listen too."

"I will, Mycroft. I am still in grief, but I shouldn't be taking it out on the most devoted friend I ever had. I'm afraid I've taken too much for granted."

"We often take our loved ones for granted," Mycroft allowed. "I do hope you remember that. If you do forget, however, I will be there to remind you."

John suppressed a shudder, more intimidated by that than any threat Mycroft could have ever made.

"I hope you won't hold my interference against me. I really do appreciate all you have done for my brother." Mycroft got up and reached into his pocket. "Oh, this is for you, I nearly forgot about it."

John reached for the slip of paper Mycroft handed him. "What… Harriet Watson, Room #34C, Royal Rehabilitation and Recovery…You tracked her down? How did you know I was looking…? Never mind, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Mycroft rejoined, heading for the door. Suddenly, John jumped up. "Wait, would you mind telling me how exactly she got into the 'Triple R'? It's the foremost rehab facility in England, waiting lists miles long impossible to get into…I've tried with some of my patients."

Mycroft smiled tightly. "Just a token of my gratitude for all you have done. Besides, family needs to look out for each other, don't they?" The man disappeared along with his umbrella, leaving a bemused former army doctor staring at the paper in his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Gregory Lestrade had found himself in numerous strange situations over the years. His occupation at Scotland Yard and his association with one Mr. Sherlock Holmes was the cause of most of them. He had never pictured himself having a friendly drink at the pub with either of the Holmes brothers, but he could live with that. Even if he was having a drink with both of them _at the same time._

"So, Greg, how goes the Campbell case?" Sherlock asked amiably.

"You know exactly how, you solved it for us yesterday. Suspect's in custody, in midst of confessing. I gave you all the credit, by the way. Enough about me. How are you two doing?" Greg surveyed the two brothers. He still felt a bit strange addressing the older Holmes so informally. He had always been somewhat intimidated by the man, yet he had gotten to see a more vulnerable side to the man recently. He had sat by the man's hospital bed for hours and then helped him get settled back at home. Mycroft Holmes was wearing his usual aloof countenance right now, but Greg detected some more warmth in his eyes when he smiled. A friendship of some sort between them had tentatively taken root, and the DI was willing to go along with it and see where it would take him. Just as he had done with the younger brother.

"I am doing very well, thank you," Mycroft responded in a somewhat strained manner. _Not used to small talk, that one. By golly, that man really needs to get a life,_ Greg mused to himself. "I hope we haven't kept you from your obligations." Mycroft smiled tightly.

"Not at all, it's nice to get to spend some time with friends." He saw Sherlock staring at the ceiling nervously. "Look, I may be an idiot, but I do realize you two want to discuss something with me. So, I usually don't bite on Sundays, you can get it out. If you do want me to fly out to Siberia or something, all I'm asking is to be allowed a change of clothes. And a fur hat. It gets a bit chilly up there, I've heard." He chuckled, and was pleased to see the brother's grinning at that.

"Not to worry, my dear DI. My little brother here," Mycroft waved a hand at Sherlock, "has been pretty insistent on seeking your advice regarding some…family issues. After some consideration, I agreed with him that you might be the right person to offer assistance. I do hope this is not an imposition."

"I know this is not our usual style, but we're both running out of options. You have children, Greg, don't you?"Sherlock queried. Greg nodded. "Then perhaps you can offer some insight through that perspective."

"Hold on a moment," Gregory said, running a hand through his hair, as realization dawned. "I am only a Detective Inspector. I have no qualifications in psychology. Wouldn't you be better of consulting a professional in this case?"

"Tell me, Mr. Lestrade, do you happen to know a therapist who would deal with our family without needing the professional assistance of their colleagues in the aftermath?" Mycroft asked. "This is not the time for doing an in-depth psychoanalysis of all parties concerned, much as I doubt that would even be possible. You are a sensible man, you have been acquainted with my brother and me for years, and you are familiar with the details of our…situation. You are our best option now." Mycroft drummed his fingers on the table, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

"Greg, I don't want you to feel forced into this. I just want to hear your thoughts. You are one of the most decent men I've ever met, and you have loads of common sense. How about you let me outline the situation and then you let me know if there's anything you want to say."

"You don't understand," Greg said softly. "If you think I can offer you some insight into parent/child relationships, you have the wrong guy. I have failed as a father many times. My son wouldn't even speak to me for a period of over two years. I am not the man you think I am."

The two brothers stared at their friend in shock. "That's impossible," Sherlock blurted out. "How could _anyone_ ever be upset at you, let alone your own child? You have the patience of a saint, you're impossibly kind—

"Do shut up Sherlock." Turning to Lestrade, Mycroft said, "I do understand that family dynamics can be complicated and are often beyond reason. However, I think that's exactly why your insight would be so valuable. You have obviously reconciled with your son, as you speak of your…estrangement in past tense. If you don't mind my asking, how is your daughter, or is it daughters?"

"Katy and Jane, and my son's David. How did you know?" Greg wondered. "It was obvious; you confirmed you have children, in the plural sense, yet you spoke about your son without specification, such as describing him as older or younger, or even merely a general 'one of my sons'. Therefore, your other progeny would be female." Mycroft smiled smugly.

"And you are always telling me not to show off," Sherlock muttered.

"Fine, they're doing fine. It was hard for all of us after my ex and I divorced, with blame being passed around like cake at a birthday party. We're trying, but enough about me. Start from the beginning, if you don't mind."  
***TFD***

"So she's very upset, then she tells Mycroft he's limited, and then she turns to you, asking you what to do?" Greg summarized Sherlock's monologue.

"Yes, after saying I was always the grownup. Look, we both love our parents and think they're amazing what with putting up with us and all. I'm not complaining about them. We just don't know how to deal with their recent actions."

"Continue."

"Mycroft has tried apologizing numerous times. Mummy has refused to even speak with him. Dad has told him that he is forgiven, but this is not about forgiveness, it is about trust."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mycroft," Greg said sincerely.

"Wait, there's more." Sherlock continued. "I have been getting a large number of unusual phone calls from Mummy. One day it's about Dad's heart condition, and would I be able to recommend a good heart doctor? The next day, it's about her issues with home insurance, and then she wants advice about her traveling destinations. And of course, there are her concerns about, you know, our sister," Sherlock tensed a bit at the last part. "Would I speak to her doctors, is she making any progress, that sort of concerns."

"And she's never called with that kind of concerns?" Greg asked carefully.

"Nah, we never spoke a lot." Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "She would call me once every few weeks, ask if I'm eating well, sleeping enough, and only using my nicotine patches. She would tell me all about her recent travels, all the funny little stories about Dad, and that was it.

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. "Listen, it's not like I don't want to help her, she's just asking me to do things that are not in my department at all. When I suggest that Mycroft would be better able to assist, she just sighs and tells me that I'm more than capable of doing a good job, and that she knows I won't betray her trust."

"Then he turns right around and calls me, and I take care of the issue. Sherlock then gets all the credit for getting the job done, but for some reason he isn't too happy about it," Mycroft spoke up.

"I'm tired of being the bloody middleman!" Sherlock exclaimed heatedly. "I don't know how you put up with this constant pressure, but I am totally not ready for this! I am not a replacement for Mycroft, and don't want to be treated as one!"

"That does seem like a lot of pressure," Greg mused sympathetically. "Well, he isn't getting a fraction of what I used to get," Mycroft smirked. "I was asked to look after _Sherlock._ "

Greg smirked at that too while Sherlock pouted. "I do not think either of us would like this situation to continue," Mycroft sighed. "I have tried verbal apologies, sending flowers, anything I could think of. I accept responsibility for hurting them, yet I would like to find a way to make it up to them. I acknowledge I am not so good with…sentiment, I was hoping you would have some advice." Mycroft looked more like a chastened puppy than the British Government at that point.

"I'm sorry, for both of you," Greg said gently. "From my perspective as a father, I can assure that a parent will always love their child, no matter what the child has done. Sometimes, when a person is hurting, it can temporarily cloud their judgment. Your parents seem to be very loving and devoted, I'm sure they'll come around.

"And I'm guessing this is about more than simple convenience, Sherlock. You may have your typical sibling rivalries, but you don't like seeing your brother hurt.

"And you, Mycroft, I have to say you have done an amazing job of shouldering the burden of caring for your family, though perhaps you need to let go a bit. You have to acknowledge that you were trying your best, and forgive yourself for the mistakes you have made. Perhaps forgiving yourself would make it easier for others to do the same."

"Thank you, Greg," Sherlock said quietly as Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement, his chest too tight to speak.

"Are your parents in the country?" Greg inquired. "Perhaps I can have a chat with them, parent to parent."

***TFD***

"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes," Greg extended his hand. He looked around the well kept mansion, and then at the stately older couple, nervously. The Holmes parents had the advantage over him in age, as well as social and economic status. He suddenly wondered whether the correct address would have been 'Sir' and 'Lady'.

"I wish to commend you on raising two of the best men I've ever met," he began, "both of whom I'm proud to call a friend." He took a deep breath.

"I am here because your boys are hurting, and I know you'd want to help them."

 **A/N** So, this was a bit different than the usual confrontations, and I want to hear your opinions. Did you like me bringing in Lestrade? Do you want to see more of Lestrade and the elder Holmes, or do you want the parents and the boys meeting, perhaps with flashbacks to Lestrade? Are there any other character's you want me to bring in? Thanks for the feedback!

P.S. Thanks to those who have noticed the mistake, I'm correcting the first chapter with the ages of Eurus and Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

"I am not really the type to involve myself in private family matters. I am here as a friend, and as a parent myself," Lestrade began, after tea and biscuits had been served. "and I am not here to judge you, nor to tell you what to do. I'm hoping I can serve as a mediator between you and your sons, who wish to patch things up with you. Are you willing to let me try?"

It was Mrs. Holmes who answered him. "Mr. Lestrade, Sherlock has mentioned that you are a colleague, and that he respects you. I am willing to listen, however, I fail to see why your assistance is necessary. It _is_ a private family matter, after all," she said stiffly. Mr. Holmes then spoke up quietly but firmly, "Let the man speak, Mildred." He turned to the DI. "I, for one, think that this has gone on for long enough, and I wish to see my family reunited. I would be grateful for your assistance."

Lestrade was a bit surprised by the Holmes patriarch. Based on his conversation with the younger Holmes and his own observations, he had pegged him as being somewhat henpecked, while the Mrs. ran the ship. Perhaps the senior Holmes had found a backbone. Either way, it seemed he could be an ally. He spoke again, "I am aware of what Mycroft has done, and how you feel he has betrayed your trust. I want to know if you have ever considered why he did it, and what his intentions were."

"Does it really matter?" Mrs. Holmes responded, a slight bitterness to her tone. "He lied to us for years, he made us grieve for a daughter who was still alive, he prevented us from seeing her. He should have known better, he should have _done_ better!"

Greg prayed internally that he come out whole and sane from the conversation. Mrs. Holmes seemed to be a strong-minded person, and not one to be crossed lightly. He needed to try for his friends' sake, those poor boys deserved better. "Mrs. Holmes, in my work as a DI, we always look for motive, for the backstory. It always matters. If a person stabbed someone in self defense, while being held at gunpoint, it's quite a different situation then outright murder, don't you agree?" Without waiting for an answer he continued.

"I have known Mycroft for years now, ever since I've started working with Sherlock. I am not exaggerating when I say that Mycroft is unique in his devotion to his brother's wellbeing. All of Sherlock's friends, all of his associates at the yard, know whom to turn to when Sherlock is in trouble. I have requested his assistance myself on numerous occasions, and have never been denied. Mycroft always at least tried, even when he was unable to help. It is something we have always taken for granted. We probably shouldn't. Mycroft has been called at the most inconvenient of times, and has been inconvenienced in numerous other ways, yet he's always there. It's really admirable, I think. I may be wrong, but I understand that he is devoted to you, his parents. I understand that he has always been there for you when you requested his help. Am I right?"

"Mycroft has always been a responsible boy, and he understands that he has a duty towards his family," the Holmes matriarch answered primly. "Which is why it is so difficult to understand why he betrayed us like this," her voice tightened with hurt. Greg felt pang of sympathy for the woman, who had suffered through a lot with her children. Nevertheless, he was growing frustrated with her inflexibility. She had obviously raised her children with the old-fashioned philosophy of them being seen and not heard, and where children were expected to obey their elders as a matter of course. That type of upbringing did not typically involve a lot of praise or physical affection. He wasn't one for blaming parents for all of society's ills, not that he was one to judge. He was merely trying to get a perspective on the Holmes family, and those observations explained a lot.

"Perhaps we figure that out together," he said agreeably. "Can you agree with me that he definitely had good intentions, and probably thought he was doing you a kindness?" "I can agree with that," Mrs. Holmes said hesitantly, while her husband nodded silently.

"Pardon me if I'm being too intrusive, could you tell me at what age Mycroft got involved in his sister's care?" Greg asked carefully.

"Actually, he was somewhat involved practically from the moment she was born. Being the eldest, he always felt a sense of responsibility for his siblings..." she trailed off with a sigh. "He somehow understood them both better than we did. When she needed to be taken away, it was very hard for us, you understand." She looked uncomfortable. " It's alright if you don't want to talk about it," the DI assured her. "No, I'll be alright," the older woman responded. "Our daughter refused to speak with us when we visited, and that hit us very hard. We started going only once a year on Christmas, brought her a present, and came home. My brother Rudy, he had a position in the government and was able to arrange for high quality care. He would visit the facility to ensure that she was properly cared for. After our first visit, we insisted that Rudy take Mycroft along, hoping that she would respond to him. They went together about every two months."

"How old was Mycroft when he began his visits?" Greg inquired curiously. "He was sixteen," the matriarch responded. "Eurus was eight. Mycroft was one of the only people she always responded to, and he definitely understood her more than anyone else there. Rudy got clearance for him to speak to her doctors, and he was able to give them more insight into her. Seven years later, he told us the lie about the fire. I still cannot understand why," she shook her head.

Greg was flabbergasted. "So, Mycroft was basically responsible for the care of his sister, who had very complex needs, since the age of sixteen. That is pretty unusual. And he was only twenty-three when for some reason he made the decision to deceive you. Could it be that as a young single man, barely out of his teens, he made the best decision he could in his position? Perhaps he rationalized that this would be the easiest for you to hear? Perhaps this was an attempt to protect you, and he could hardly be expected to know better?"

"How could he do this to his own parents?" Mrs. Holmes questioned, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why did we need to grieve over a daughter who was still alive?"

"I believe I can answer that," came the unexpected voice of Mr. Holmes. "I've been thinking about this a lot the past few weeks, and you have helped clarify the picture. I believe that Mycroft lied to us because we told him to."

"William!" came his wife's shocked exclamation. "What in the world are you talking about!"

"Calm down, Mildred. It's simple. When you look at it from Mycroft's perspective, we were telling him we couldn't cope. We placed basically all of the responsibility on his shoulder, while we dealt with the situation by ignoring it. We ignored our _daughter._ He didn't want us to fall apart completely. The truth was too terrible for any parent to hear. He should never have been in the position to make this decision alone." His shoulders fell. "I'm afraid we failed him too. He was given too much responsibility, too soon. We took his help for granted, never thinking about the heavy burden he was carrying."

A laden silence filled the air when the older man finished speaking. Mrs. Holmes looked stricken as she contemplated his words. "He was always so responsible, so willing to help. Do you think we shouldn't have let him go so far?" she asked her husband.

"I think we expected a bit much. And gave too little in return. In the span of several years, he found himself not only checking up on Eurus, but mostly responsible for the rest of the family. Don't you remember all that he did for Sherlock, how he spent all that time putting him back together? I don't k know if Sherlock would have ever come out of his shell if not for Mycroft. And then there was the way he worried about us, constantly asking us if there was any way he could help us, and all those times he reassured us that he would take care of everything, and everything would be alright."

"Of course, he was always a dependable child. And he did so much for us in those trying times. I was really to hard on him, I said such harsh things to him. I didn't really mean them, I was simply upset." Mrs. Holmes turned to the DI. "I suppose I should tell him I forgive him for that mistake. I appreciate for bringing this to our attention."

The DI was relieved, and he almost left it at that. He thought about his two friends, and felt a new burst of courage. "I hope you don't mind if I ask one more question." He paused, observing how they looked at him expectantly. "While Mycroft was busy looking after his family, who was looking after him?"

There was a stunned silence. "I am not blaming anyone here," he said gently. "I have made a similar mistake with my own daughter. I and her mother separated, and she worried for both of us, and for her siblings too. She tried to compensate for the situation by being the perfect daughter, and taking responsibility for her siblings, as well as looking after me. She would come over to cook my meals, and then run home to help her mother with the housework. She studied hard so we wouldn't need to worry about her grades, and in general tried to be as helpful as possible." Greg paused, a bit shocked at himself. He wasn't used to sharing such personal stories even with friends, let alone near strangers. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to get it off his chest though. "After several months of this, my ex- wife found her in her room, cutting herself. We arranged for therapy, of course. Her therapist told us that it was common for certain types of children to feel responsible for the family when there's a crisis. Sometimes, as in our case, it's an oldest child. Sometimes it's a child with a Type A personality. Whatever the cause, the child will usually find herself overwhelmed by the pressure of keeping it all together, and may act out or start suffering from psychological symptoms. We were told to explain to her that we, as the parents, are responsible for ourselves and all our children including her. When she let go of the burden she was carrying, she slowly came back to herself.

"I am not saying this situation is exactly the same. But what I am seeing here is a child who has been carrying a tremendous burden for far too long. He has had no one to share it with, and no relief over the years. I am amazed that he has been dealing with so much without ever breaking. It has come to a point where he is being castigated for making a mistake. And by that, I mean he blames himself too. I have seen him after the crisis he had, and it seemed to me that there were a few cracks finally developing in his façade. If you want to help him, you can start by expressing appreciation for everything he's done, I think he was taken too much for granted. He also needs to hear from you that you don't blame him for his mistake, and perhaps an apology for the way he has been treated because of it. I apologize for coming on so strongly, but this is the only way to save your relationship with your sons.

"I said sons, because Sherlock is also hurt. He has suddenly received all the responsibility his brother has had before, which he himself has admitted he isn't ready for. Instead of being flattered at being called a grownup, he's feeling a lot of pressure to perform in areas that are not his strong points. He feels that he is being used as a replacement for his brother, and he is uncomfortable with that. You would be happy to know that your two boys are really working on their relationship, and here they are being pitted one against the other, and they have no idea how to proceed. I thank you for listening and hope you don't take offense at my being so blunt."

Mrs. Holmes stared at her nails while her husband got up. "This is definitely not easy for us to hear, but you have given us food for thought. Perhaps it's not too late for us to be their for our children when they need us. They are lucky to have a friend who cares so deeply about them." He smiled at the younger man. "Let me see you out, and give our regards to our boys."

Lestrade slumped into the seat of his car as soon as he got in. He would need to call the junior Holmes's, but he first had three urgent phone calls to make. When the first call went to voice messages, he spoke into the receiver, "Hi, Katie, it's Dad calling. I just want to remind you, in case you've forgotten, how much I love you and how proud I am of you..."

 **A/N** I really didn't think this scene would go on for this long. The Holmes family meeting will have to wait for next chapter. There might also be some more brotherly bonding and angst between the two of them, depends how long the scene will turn out.

P.S. I've written a one-shot about Eurus's point of view of her childhood, her relationship with her family, and what happened at Sherrinford. It's consistent with what I've written about them in this story. You can find it on my profile or by searching the title "Love is Not Enough." I'd love to hear what you think of it, as well as your thoughts on this story. Thanks, you make my day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notice:** I've corrected some minor errors in the previous chapters. Thank you to those who pointed it out. The Holmes's mother has been renamed as Mildred.

"I'm only doing this on one condition," Mycroft hissed, while standing at the entrance of his parents' home next to his brother.

"Don't worry, brother dear, I've got your back," Sherlock replied in the overly sweet tone designed to irritate his brother.

"I mean it. If the situation devolves into a deluge of sentimentality, we will need a diversion. Nothing harmful, obviously," he glared. "Obviously," Sherlock repeated, with a smirk that frankly alarmed his brother. Sherlock observed the tightness in his brother's expression and place a casual hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He rang the buzzer and then opened the door with his key, marching in while dragging his brother along.

They found the Holmes parents in the sitting room. "Oh, boys, I'm so glad you could both make it. I had Elsa make your favorites, it will be so lovely to have dinner together, we haven't done this in such a long time," Mrs. Holmes began chattering nervously. Sherlock bent down to kiss her cheek, smiling reassuringly. "Thanks, Mummy, you're the best." He then went over to shake his father's hand.

Mycroft greeted his parents with a stiff hello while standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "I apologize again for not being-" he began awkwardly, when his mother interrupted him, "Come here you silly boy, you owe your mother a kiss." He bent down kissed his mother sheepishly, and she held on to his shoulders for a moment, whispering to him, "You know we love you both, you silly boy." Mycroft responded with a soft "Of course, Mummy," rolling his eyes in an exasperated display to hide his discomfort. He was always uncomfortable with openly displayed emotions. He couldn't deny that something inside of him thawed at his mother's declaration, though.

The senior Holmes came over to shake his eldest son's hand, remarking simply, "It's good that you came." Mildred Holmes declared that she would bring in drinks as her children made themselves comfortable. Mycroft made small talk with his father, and inquired about his father's latest appointment with his cardiologist, while Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, looking bored. When their mother reentered with the drinks, she sat down and joined the conversation. It could have been a typical Holmes family meeting if not for the undercurrent of tension running through them. Mildred decided to take her usual lead.

"Boys, I think I owe you both an apology," she began, looking her sons in the eye. "You've made a mistake, Mycroft, and I was very disappointed in you, but that doesn't excuse the way I've treated you. I accept that you meant well, and you're only human. I forgive you for that, and I hope you forgive me for being to hard on you." She turned to Mycroft expectantly. "Of course, Mummy," he murmured. "I hope you know we appreciate everything you've done for our family," she continued. "Perhaps we have taken too much for granted. Especially how you've taken care of Sherlock."

"I'm right here, you know, Mummy." Sherlock spoke up from his supine position on the couch, where he was staring at the ceiling. "Yes, I know, young man," his mother responded, smiling. "You very well know how your brother cares about you. You might even learn to appreciate it one day," his mother teased. Sherlock snorted, then put a pillow over his head. His mother shook her head fondly, then turned back to her other son. "You know, we always relied on you to take care of your siblings, and you did a marvelous job, considering the circumstances. But I'm afraid we put too much on you. We expected you to do everything that we should have done ourselves."

"Don't say that, Mummy," Mycroft said quietly. "I was always happy to help out, especially when it came to my siblings. They're my family too."

"Well, we appreciate that. All I'm saying it would be a bit hypocritical to be upset that you made mistakes, when we've made plenty ourselves. I suppose we were all dealing with very difficult circumstances, and we weren't always able to cope. I'm sorry, Mycroft," her voice started choking up.

"It's alright, Mummy, we'll be alright," Mycroft got up to give his mother a hug, discreetly poking his brother's leg on the way. Sherlock sat up with a start. "Oh, I hope you don't have any cake for dessert, Mummy," he exclaimed. "Especially not black forest cake."

"What's wrong with that?" his mother questioned. "I especially requested it from Elsa, it's Mycroft's favorite!"

"Too bad. You see, Mycroft is on a very strict diet right now, and we wouldn't want to place temptation in his way, would we?" He sent an evil smirk towards his brother. "Don't worry, Mycroft, I'll make sure you take proper portions, and I won't let you near the cake."

" _Thank you,"_ Mycroft sniped, dripping sarcasm. "Your _concern_ is much appreciated." He sent a death glare to his brother.

"I'm sure one piece of cake won't hurt you, Mycroft," his mother grinned in amusement at the exchange. "How about we retire to the dining room and have dinner?" she suggested.

"Sure thing, Mummy," Sherlock declared. Mycroft got up and followed the matriarch. "I'll help with the setting up," he offered. His mother accepted with a "thank you, dear" and left the room. Mycroft was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face his father, who told him quietly, "I'm proud of you, son, and I love you. Never forget that. I have only one request of you now." He enunciated each word clearly. "Never lie to us again. No matter what happens, we will find a way to deal with it together. As a family."

"Yes Dad," Mycroft sighed. "Good." His father squeezed his shoulder. "Now lets have ourselves some dinner."

***TFD***

Dinner was a typical Holmes affair, with Mildred dominating the conversation, chattering on about her various recent experiences and her plans for her next lecturing tour. She had retired as a professor, but was invited as a guest lecturer in various prestigious universities around the world. She then proceeded to question her sons about their lives, with Mycroft giving polite answers and deflecting intrusive questions, while Sherlock gave one word answers or totally ignored them. William would interject occasionally, and would otherwise be content to watch his family.

Mrs. Holmes inquired about John and Rosie, and Sherlock told her they were doing fine. She insisted that they come over for a visit one day, and Sherlock rolled his eyes and promised to deliver the message. "Speaking about friends," he said, "I think Mycroft has made a new one. What's her name again, Alicia?" he asked innocently.

"I have no idea what you're on about" his brother hissed.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Mycroft?", Mildred asked, eyes twinkling. "Do I get to meet her, or are you planning on eloping?" she teased.

"Oh, come on, Mummy, it's nothing special, just a few dates. No need to get your hopes up."

"You looked like you were having a good time at the theatre. She seems to be very enamored by your manners. You are such a gentleman. You always hold doors open for her, she finds it very amusing that you call her 'my fair lady', and that hold your umbrella like a silver-topped walking stick. She says that you need a top hat and waistcoat and you'll complete the picture of a proper gentleman."

Mycroft sputtered indignantly. "Have you been _spying_ on me?"

"Perhaps, but that would be a fair return, don't you think?" Sherlock shot back.

"Of course you have. You're jealous. It's not like you've ever been on a proper date in your life," his brother sneered.

"I did, actually, for you information."

"Oh, enlighten me. Who was the lucky girl?"

"Sarah. She had a date with John and I came along."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Mycroft yelled. "Just shut up already!"

"Now, that's no way to speak to your brother. And you, young man, perhaps you should stop teasing him," Mildred said sternly, but with a twinkle in her eye. "I know you really care about each other, and it makes me so happy to see you getting along."

"Definitely, we get along just fine," Mycroft said, shooting a glance at his brother. "Yes, Mummy," Sherlock said with exaggerated impatience.

Mildred beamed. "I'm so glad that you boys are taking care of each other. It is so important that a family stick together. I think we need to have family dinners more often, don't you all agree?"

She didn't notice her sons sharing a grimace.

***TFD***

Sherlock found himself in his old room after dinner, studying the remains of his old experiments and explorations. There were quite a few animal skeletons, feathers, and dried plants that survived his experimentations. He found he felt a certain sense of security by being in his old environment. Perhaps it was a remnant of the times he still believed his mother, father, and big brother could solve any problem he would ever face. He had stopped believing that a very long time ago.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and he was surprised to see that it was his father that sought him out. "May I come in?" his father requested. He ushered the older man in, and they stood in silence for several moments, observing the various artifacts displayed. "Remember how used to leave all those dead animals to decompose under your bed, until we convinced you to use the garage? You nearly gave poor Mandy a heart attack when she found those while cleaning your room." Sherlock smiled at the memory of their old housekeeper, who was convinced that his sole purpose in being born was to cause her endless grief.

"You know, Dad, that it's not really true," he said suddenly. "It's a farce, to keep Mummy happy. _I'm_ a farce."

William looked at his son in sympathy, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. "This thing about us caring for each other, about family sticking together, it's a lie. Mycroft is the one who cares about family. I'm not like that."

"You did come here with your brother," his father said softly. "I believe you care more than you let on."

"Perhaps. But I don't do anything about it. You know I've not been a very good son. I was immature and self-absorbed. I always took from you, and I never gave back."

"You always had a good heart inside of you. It may have taken you a bit longer to grow up, but you have. I'm very proud of you, son. You have done good things with your work, and you're doing good things for the family now. I'm afraid we weren't always there for you when you needed us, either. We didn't always know how to handle you, and we made mistakes. Despite everything, you've grown into a fine man who is loved and respected by family and friends. Don't be too hard on yourself."

"You give me far too much credit, Dad. I've done things...I don't know if you'd feel the same way if you knew about them. I've hurt the people closest to me badly." His voice was flat, his eyes shadowed.

"Then be the man I know you are. Try to make things right. It's not too late, you know."

"Yes, Dad," Sherlock sighed. He looked at his father with a mixture of affection and sadness. "You are the wisest man I ever knew. I wish I had realized that before."

His father only smiled and squeezed his shoulder.

***TFD***

"Mycroft," Sherlock said as they were driving back. They had declined to stay the night, even if the hour was late. They were using Mycroft's personal car, and the elder brother was driving. Never again would he fall into the trap of letting his younger sibling drive. They barely made it out alive that time. I need you to be honest with me. Think you're capable of that?"

"Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies," Mycroft answered pompously.

"I prefer the one where you can answer, but then you'll have to kill me. Just tell me this. Did you ever consider letting me know you needed help? You know you did when I came that day, so don't deny it. You could have let me know in so many different ways. What I want to know is this. Is there any situation where you would call me for my assistance? Personal situation, I mean, not your government business. Or is your ego too big for that, brother mine?"

Mycroft was quiet for several moments. Then he spoke up, very quietly and deliberately. "I know where to find you, brother mine. If I ever need help, I can go and wait in the queue at 221b Baker Street. I even know in which chair to sit."

"You can't tell me you didn't call me because you were upset at a silly _prank_! "

"Who said I was?" Mycroft responded acidly. His voice softened. "Do you want to sleep over at my place, or do you want me to take you home?"

"Home," Sherlock answered. "I need space. I have a lot to think about."

 **A/N** I found it very hard to write the parents in this scene. I'm not sure about how it came out. The brothers will be going through some heavy angst in the next chapter, but will hopefully find themselves on dry ground at the end ;)

Oh, and don't forget to review. You can also check out my new one-shot featuring Mycroft, with the title "Do Not Go Gently Into the Good Night." Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

_"Help me, please, someone help me!" Sherlock looked down the well helplessly. He was tied up next to the well, watching his best friend flailing about in the ever increasing water. "I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry..." he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. He heard a barking sound from the well, and glanced down to find a red haired dog sticking his head out next to John. "I found Redbeard, Sherlock," John called. "Help us both! We're drowning!"_

 _"Pass them a rope, please, Eurus!" he turned to his sister, only to find a pigtailed little girl skipping about with a toy airplane. She was humming a tune, one that he had come to dread. "The puzzle, brother, have you figured out the puzzle?"_

 _"Help me save my best friend, please!" he begged, sobbing. "Which one, dear brother?" she smirked. "Which one do you choose?"_

 _"Help me, please!" came a new voice from the well. Sherlock looked down, and saw little Victor Trevor standing next to John, crying. The dog had disappeared. "Choose one, brother dear," his sister's voice intoned. "The old one, or the new one? You only get to keep one. "Just say the words, and then you can get out. That's not too difficult, is it?"_

 _"Please help me!" He was suddenly back in Sherrinford, standing over a coffin. Molly Hooper was inside, screaming. He banging desperately on the glass, trying to break it, to let Molly escape. "It's just a game, Molly," Eurus said indifferently. "_

 _"I hate you, Sherlock!" Molly screamed, as the lid of the coffin opened with a bang. She was suddenly standing before him, furiously slapping him, again and again. "You bas***! How could you!"_

 _"Please Molly," he begged. "I didn't mean to hurt you...please..." She slapped him again, tears running down her cheeks, screaming, "I hate you!" again and again._

 _"I hate you, Sherlock," It was Mycroft's voice now. "You were always the slow one," he sneered. "Now shoot me in the heart, like a good little brother."_ _He was pointing the gun at his brother's heart, unable to bring himself to pull the trigger. Finally, he made his decision. "Not on my watch," he declared resolutely, placing the tip of the weapon under his chin. "No, no, Sherlock! You can't!" Eurus screamed._

 _"Don't worry, sweetheart, I can help," Jim grinned from the screen, before he inexplicably stepped out and was standing before Sherlock in the flesh. He grabbed the gun from his hands and shot the elder brother. Mycroft fell down, crimson blood spurting from his heart. "What did you do!" Sherlock demanded of Moriarty._

 _"You made your choice, sexy," Jim sang. "I was just helping you finish the job. Don't worry, you'll get another one."_

 _"He was_ mybrother _! Sherlock screamed, grabbing Jim and shaking him. "_ My only brother _!"_

 _"Family is merely a sentimental title people attach to those who most closely share their genetic material," Eurus droned in the background._

 _"It is what it is," said John. "You need to move on."_

 _"Don't fuss so," came a hollow voice from the body on the floor, it's blue lips moving grotesquely. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."_

* * *

 _3:00 AM_ read the clock by Mycroft's bedside. He had woken from a restless sleep by a vibrating alarm, set to go off upon sensing a very specific intruder. He groaned a bit, pondering whether to go for confrontation or roll over and (try to) fall back asleep. He was certain that Sherlock was aware of the alert system he had recently installed (after the first time he had broken in with his _buddies)._ If he stayed in bed, chances were good that he would experience an unpleasant wake-up call. He decided against taking a chance.

Mycroft was somewhat surprised to find his brother leaning against the counter, dark circles under his reddened eyes and a brooding expression on his face. In the past few weeks, he had experienced two such 'break-ins', and had arrived both times to a disaster in the kitchen. Sherlock had expressed his culinary skills by making himself sandwiches, using different cuts of meat and expensive cheeses Mycroft kept on hand, as well as a few more exotic ingredients. He never took more than a few bites, and didn't lift a finger to clean up his mess, but Mycroft was glad that he felt comfortable enough to make himself at home. This time, his appearance and expression sent a shiver of dread down Mycroft's spine.

"Brother mine," Sherlock greeted him, his tone lifeless. "It is a pleasure to see your face again."

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" the elder brother asked, more than a little concern in his voice.

"Why would that be any concern of yours?" Sherlock asked in the same flat tone he used before.

"I would assume that would be obvious," Mycroft said, in a hurt tone.

"Yes, it is. And that's why I am letting you know that you don't need to do that anymore."

"I don't understand," Mycroft sputtered

"Let me explain it to you then. I have wondered, for a very long time, about your behavior towards me. You have saved me from quite a few messes, many of my own making. Your level of concern is uncommon, even for family. You go so far as to have me watched, so you can save me even before I get into trouble. You do not get any compensation for this task, nor any appreciation. To keep on doing this, all your life, with no external motivation, you would need to be either a saint or you would actually need to care. You are not the former, I have plenty of evidence on that count. So then it must be the latter. The problem is, the evidence does not support that claim in a consistent manner."

"What are you on about, Sherlock," Mycroft exclaimed, bewildered. "Of course I care about you!"

"Kindly let me finish before you interrupt," Sherlock said abruptly. "I have concluded that you care for some reason, but regret that you do. After all, it was you who warned me about getting involved emotionally. How many times have you told me that caring is not an advantage? How many times have you cautioned me about losing myself to sentiment and becoming vulnerable? Conclusion: you view caring as a weakness. Yet you have somehow fallen into the trap, but for some reason haven't yet.

"A pattern emerges when you observe the evidence. There were situations where your assistance was required, and you were aware of it, yet you stayed away. Those situations mostly required emotional involvement, and you weren't ready to give it. Examples: After Mary Watson was killed, you stayed away. You had the entire British surveillance system watching me, yet you couldn't bother to come in person to check up on me. So many other times, when I was sick or hurt, you instructed John or someone else to take care of me.

"You rescued me when my life was in danger, and you helped me with my drug addictions. You couldn't, however, be bothered with any niceties, such as ever giving me any praise or even acknowledgement for the progress I made. When we were younger, you helped me hone my gifts and taught me how to survive with it, yet you made me feel like an idiot while doing it. Your behavior has been contradictory all along." Mycroft stood, pale faced, his eyes wide in shock, as Sherlock held his gaze.

"You have an obvious need to rescue me, but mostly to save my life. Emotional involvement is something you avoid, and you are quite indifferent to me if there is no real danger. You can mean and spiteful, and you deride me at every opportunity. So, I would say there is something you care about, but that's not me, not as a person.

"You might care for our parents' sake, so they don't lose another child. Perhaps you care about family loyalty, and you feel it is your duty to protect your brother. Perhaps you care out of guilt, believing yourself responsible for some of my problems. Whatever the reason, it is a burden that you bear, honorably but reluctantly. Never fear, brother mine, I have come to relieve you of your burden.

"Our parents believe me to be a grownup, therefore they don't expect you to keep watch anymore. If there is any guilt you feel, I hereby absolve you from it. As for family loyalty, don't bother yourself. I myself have never cared about that, as you well know. I will give you farewell now, and you can start a new life, unburdened and unfettered from your constant concern. I thank you for all you have done for me until now. It has been a pleasure, Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock turned towards the door and began walking towards it, his steps stiff and robotic.

For a long moment, Mycroft remained frozen in his position, before he snapped out of it and ran to block the doorway.

"Enough!" he shouted. "You are not alright now, and I won't let you leave like this! Sit down!" he attempted to push his brother towards a kitchen chair, but Sherlock grabbed his hands. He then spun him around and pushed his face into the wall. Mycroft was unpleasantly reminded of a similar position he found himself in once when Sherlock was high, but was absolutely positive his brother hadn't used now. He frantically tried to figure out what had brought this sudden onset of animosity.

"You _will_ let me go, Mr. Holmes, your days as my keeper are over, _understood_?" Sherlock hissed. He let go of Mycroft's shoulder and wandered into the sitting room on his way to the front entrance. Mycroft ran after him and grabbed him by the sleeve of his Belstaff coat. "Please don't do this, Sherlock. We were doing so well. We can work out whatever is bothering you. I promise to be a better brother," he begged, his voice breaking.

"Then just tell me one thing. Why. Do. You. Care." Sherlock demanded, not turning around.

Mycroft faltered, letting go of the sleeve. He was silent for a moment, besides for his heavy breathing. "Because I do." He answered finally. "I just do."

"Why," Sherlock insisted, his voice quieter and softer now.

"Sometimes, there is no reason. I only know that I have cared about you since before you were born, and ever since. The fact that you are my brother has contributed, I'm sure. All the time I spent caring for you, helping you, it just made me care more. What I want you to understand is that I don't want stop caring. If I lose you..." Mycroft swallowed. "If I lose you, I honestly don't know how I can go on living. Don't you understand, Sherlock?"

The younger brother walked over to the sofa, and Mycroft noted that his steps were somewhat unsteady. Sherlock sat down, shoulders hunched over. Mycroft remained standing, gazing at his little brother with concern. "I am so sorry that I haven't always been there for you. I promised you that, and I didn't keep my promise. I was a coward, too afraid too deal with uncomfortable emotions, too weak to be the brother I should have been."

"No." Sherlock spoke up, exhaustion and despair coloring his voice. "No. I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't really mean all that I said, you know. I know very well that I was the one who pushed you away most of the time, and I was the one who wouldn't accept the affection you tried to give me. My behavior was just as mean and spiteful as yours, and on occasion exceeded it. I am as complicit as you in our 'strained relationship', as you call it.

"I just needed to know. I have been lied to and manipulated all my life, as I recently found out. I barely know who I am anymore. I needed you to be honest with me, to tell me if you really care, or our relationship is a lie."

Mycroft sat down on the sofa next to his brother and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "All that, only to force me to utter some sentimental expressions?" he joked weakly. "Is there anything else you would like me to say? Do tell, I'd like to get it all over in one shot."

"It's not funny, Mycroft. I was actually trying to do more than that. I wanted to give you a way out. You know, in case you were tired of taking care of me. Goodness knows, I never deserved any of your concern. I take and take and only give abuse in return. Mycroft, what kind of monster am I?"

"You're not a monster, Sherlock," Mycroft protested.

"I am. It's not only you. There are other people of whom I took advantage, used them, and hurt them deeply and _I didn't even realize_! What kind of person does that make me?"

" I'm assuming you're mostly referring to Miss Hooper?" Mycroft inquired. His brother nodded. Mycroft sighed. "You were never one to hurt others for enjoyment. You just paid less attention. I'm sure you can patch it up with her. I think you're finally growing up, brother mine."

"I need to tell you about the-" a yawn interrupted Sherlock's words. "I'm sorry, I want to-" he couldn't get past the next huge yawn.

Mycroft observed him carefully. "You have hardly slept a wink since our visit to Mummy's four days ago, drank little, and hardly ate a thing. We will continue this conversation another time. I will prepare some tea and biscuits, and then you will go to sleep in the bedroom I have set aside for you. Luckily for me, it's right next to mine in case you fancy another nighttime chat. Wait but a moment, little brother." He went to prepare the tea.

"Thanks, Mycroft," his brother replied. They finished their snack in silence, (Mycroft had gotten hungry) and headed upstairs. Mycroft helped his unsteady brother into bed and tucked him in. He observed his woebegone expression, and whispered, "We'll be fine, brother mine. We have each other."

Sherlock pulled at his hand. "Mycroft," he slurred. "Don't ever, ever die. Need you too much. Love you."

Mycroft squeezed his hand, then bent down and placed a kiss on his baby brother's forehead. "I love you too, Sherlock," he whispered. "And I do hope you're drowsy enough not to remember this in the morning."

 **A/N:** Hope the angst wasn't too heavy, and that the brothers stayed in character. Thank you to all those who reviewed. For questions or comments, just press the review button!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** In the following chapter, the brothers go their separate ways, each trying to tie up some loose ends on their own. More Mycroft/Sherlock interaction to come in the next chapter!

To Kathy G., the wonderful reviewer: I agree that John and Rosie are in desperate need of love. I will try to bring them in in the net chapter. I'm thinking of doing a one-shot about John's visit to Harry, since this story is mainly about the Holmes brothers. Any ideas would be welcome.

A general note to all wonderful readers: I deduce that you are enjoying the stories going by the number of hits, favorites and follows. Reviews are a bit low, however. I do need the feedback to inspire me and motivate me. So please, don't be shy! A special shout-out goes to wynnleaf, who reviewed almost every chapter. Your comments were food for thought and very welcome!

 **Chapter Nine**

The final chords of their haunting duet lingered on in his mind as he entered the chopper that would take him off the island. Sherlock visited his newfound sister on a consistent basis, every Tuesday from 11 AM to 1 PM. He went alone, without Mycroft or his parent's. It was, he had told his brother, something he needed to do himself. That was more for is sake than his sister's, who barely took notice of anything around her. As he played, he would focus on his long buried memories, of a little girl in pigtails patiently teaching her curly haired brother how to play the violin.

Playing together again provided, if not some sort of closure, then at least a vehicle for expression of the emotional upheaval he was experiencing. He felt anger, loss, and betrayal warring with pity and compassion as he contemplated his sister's blank expression. He was glad that they were communicating through the safer method of music, rather than actual words. Music just had to be right, Eurus had said. That much he was capable of.

As Sherlock Holmes left the helicopter, he contemplated a different visit he would make that evening, one that made his stomach churn with anxiety. This time, he wouldn't be able to use musical notes as an escape. No amount of pretending, charming, or flirting would get him out of hot water. For once, he would need to actually say what he meant, and more importantly, mean what he said.

* * *

"Molly," he greeted the young woman who answered the door. "I hope my timing is not inconvenient for you."

"Not at all, Sherlock," the pathologist answered a tad anxiously. "It was, uh, good of you to call ahead. Not that I would have minded otherwise," she added quickly. "I just mean... maybe you should just come inside."

"Gladly. Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said quietly. It was the first time he saw her since the events at Sherrinford. He had purposely avoided her until now, only entering the morgue when she was off shift. With the encouraging words of his father and brother, he had taken this step, but not before asking John for advice, of course. John had urged him to just be himself, "Your newer self of course, I don't think she would appreciate the old one." Good old John, supportive yet honest to the point of being brutal. He just wished that his friend's advice would hold true.

Toby greeted him with claws out, yowling fiercely. "I'm just here for a little chat, old friend," he smiled at him, throwing a treat his way. It was good he had come prepared. "I'm not going to hurt anybody." He winced, knowing it was too late for that.

"Would you like some tea?" Molly inquired with her gentle lilt. "That would be appreciated," he answered politely. Molly showed him to the sofa and bustled about preparing the drink. She came back with a tray, and Sherlock began to talk. "You know why I'm here Molly, so I won't keep you."

"I do, Sherlock," she replied, looking him in the eye.

"I don't really know what to say, except that I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. "You were totally right. I am a bas***. I am also the biggest idiot in the world. You know how I always go on about people who see and don't observe. Well, I was blind, totally blind to your feelings. I took advantage of your giving nature. I used you, and gave nothing in return. I insulted you all the time without a second thought. I would understand it if you hate me now."

"I don't." Molly replied. "Maybe I should, but I don't."

"I know John told you about Sherrinford. I am sorry that you were targeted, but I am very glad you weren't hurt in the end, at least physically. I do hate that I was forced to make that phone call, that I ended up hurting you.

"I need you to understand one thing, Molly Hooper. I did not lie to you. I meant it. I meant every word. You know how I care about John, how I would do anything for him? Well, I love him in that way, even if it's not romantic. It's the same way I love my parents, and my other friends. You, Molly, are one of them. A very good and dear friend, although I never treated you like that. A friend that I trust with my life. I do not deserve to have you.

"And you, Molly, do not deserve to have me. You deserve so much better. You deserve someone who will treat you like a queen, who will give you all the care and attention in the world. You deserve someone who will truly appreciate the very special qualities you have, Molly Hooper. You do not deserve to have someone like me inflicted on you, Molly Hooper."

"I agree." Sherlock started; he hadn't been expecting that. Molly's voice shook a little, but she continued on bravely. "In a way, I owe you a thank you. Your phone call led me to finally do something for myself. I've finally started doing something for myself. I realized then that I was destroying myself by holding on to a dream that would never become reality. I'm getting help now. Its helping me sort through everything." She swallowed and looked down.

"I'm glad we agree on something, " Sherlock tried to keep his tone light. "Its my fervent hope that you will find the happiness you're looking for."

"I never understood why I always ended up this way," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. "Always running after you, no matter how many times you pushed me away. I'm starting to realize its as much my fault as yours. There's a reason I couldn't let go. I'm taking a break now, leaving on a holiday with some girlfriends. Not _that_ kind of girlfriends, just, you know, friends. You were right then, when you told me not to pursue any relationships. I don't think I was ready. I hope I will be after I figure myself out. But I don't think you came here to hear me rambling on about myself. Are you alright, after, you know, all that happened?"

"I will be, after I figure out a few things myself. I know I have no right to ask for your friendship after everything, however I want you to know that I care about you no matter what. If you ever need me, I will be there for you, just as you have been there for me. I apologize for keeping you, Molly." He got up and went to the door, then turned to give her a wave. "Enjoy your holiday, and don't let anyone disturb your fun."

"Wait," Molly called out. "Sherlock Holmes, you silly git!" She hurried to the door and threw her arms around him. "You better be there when I come back, Mr. Holmes. St. Bart's just isn't the same without you."

Sherlock gently hugged her back. "Yes, Your Majesty. I'll miss you too, my queen," he winked at her, and left.

* * *

Eurus was still at it, haunting music streaming from her violin while she faced the wall. Nevertheless, Mycroft Holmes began speaking to her. It was time for him to confront his own demons.

"I don't know if you're listening to me, Eurus. I will say it either way." The music stopped suddenly. Eurus maintained her stance, still facing the wall, bow held stiffly in her hand.

"I tried. I will never know if I did the right thing, but I tried. I tried to save you from yourself in the only way I knew how. I locked you in this hell of a place so you could do no more harm. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, by helping to save lives. Your assistance has saved hundreds of lives, maybe even thousands. But I know that didn't mean anything to you. It was all a game."

He continued, his voice breaking. "I don't know why you hurt Sherlock. All my life I was trying to prevent that, yet you didn't give up. You were obsessed with finishing the game you were playing with him. In trying to protect him, I hurt him. I lied to him. I taught him to stop caring, so that he wouldn't be hurt again. But you got to him anyway. I just wish you could have reached him without all the destruction you caused.

"I never told you this, because I didn't think it mattered. I care about you, Eurus. I always did. It breaks my heart to see you in this state. I had to shut down my emotions to not be vulnerable to your manipulations. But I tried to show you I cared in the only ways I could. I tried to give you purpose, to let you help other people. I let you meet with Moriarty, hoping it would quench your burning obsession with Sherlock. That was a mistake I am still paying for. Nonetheless, I gave you gifts, hoping you would somehow recognize in them signs of my caring.

"I always dreamed I would find a way to make you better. That didn't happen yet. You are locked in, not so much by the physical walls surrounding you as by the walls you have built in your own mind. Nobody has figured out how to release you from that. Our brother has found a path to reach you through a crack in the wall, and I am glad for that. I hope it alleviates your loneliness somewhat.

"You made your choices, yet I cannot be angry at you for that. I pity you for what your diseased mind has forced you to do. I know that you always viewed me as nothing more than a tool. You tried to use me to achieve your twisted goals. When you were finished, you didn't even bother killing me. Perhaps I was insignificant to you, compared to the final game you wanted to play. Perhaps you thought I will still have use to you. I sometimes wished you would at least get angry with me, so I would know that I mattered. But I don't.

"I can accept that. And I know that Sherlock does matter. That's why I am keeping a close eye on both of you. I will not let you hurt him again. For his sake and for yours, Eurus, I will put a stop to any games you may try to play. I may sound cruel, but this is the only way to save you both.

"Whether you care or not, I still love you, my little sister. You still break my heart, every single day. Goodbye, sister mine. I will be back to see you again."

Mycroft paused, sensing a change in his sister's stance. She slowly turned around. Her gaze found his. She held out the violin in front of her, silently staring. Mycroft held her gaze for a few seconds, trying to read her. "You're welcome," he said softly. "I'm glad you're enjoying the violin." His little sister began playing again, and he wondered if he had read her intentions right. As he left the room, she was still playing, still gazing at his back.


	10. Chapter 10

The picnic lunch was in full swing, crumbs littering the plush lawn around the patio table. The spring weather was sunny with a hint of a chill. An older woman was approaching the table with a tray of drinks, when she nearly stepped on a well wrapped tiny human lolling about on the grass. "Oh my goodness, Rosie, I almost didn't notice you!" the woman scolded the little girl good naturedly. "You really shouldn't be eating the grass, it might interfere with your digestion. Why don't you try a sandwich, dear?" The baby stared at her blankly, before turning her attention back to the blade of grass she was currently sampling.

"Rosie, come here, princess," came a man's voice. "You nearly made Aunt Mildred trip on you! That was naughty!" The baby toddled over to the man on shaky legs, giggling. "Dada!" she called. She launched herself at her father, a short man with dark blond hair. Seated next to him, a man with curly dark brown hair grinned. "Her gait has really improved in the last couple of weeks. She probably needs shoes or something. Do they make them in her size?" he asked.

"No worries, they do," his friend reassured him. "I'll need to take her shopping. Perhaps take along someone for expert advice."

"Oh, I can do that. I can tell you exactly what kind of material the shoes are made of. You wouldn't believe how many manufacturers sneak in inferior quality materials in their products, which can have a detrimental effect on the overall-"

"Sherlock," his friend interrupted him with mock exasperation. "I meant somebody who has some knowledge of style, and what's practical for kids. I'm sure I can rule you out." He rolled his eyes as the other man pouted. A white haired man watched the scene, smiling serenely.

The picnic lunch was the brainchild of one Sherlock Holmes, who had caved in to his mother's demands and arranged for John Watson and his daughter Rosamund to visit the Holmes estate. The elder couple had warmly welcomed John and cooed over the baby. Sherlock had suspected ulterior motives to their behavior. The elder Holmes had mostly given up on having grandchildren, what with the complicated personalities each of their children possessed. Sherlock's goddaughter was very likely the closest they would come to having a grandchild, and Sherlock assumed they would favor her as one, if John allowed.

"She looks to be a smart one," William Holmes chuckled. "Look at the way she's grabbing all the cheese out of the sandwiches when no ones looking." Everyone turned their heads towards the little girl, who was now sitting on the table, surrounded by mangled sandwiches and a pile of cheese in the center. Her face and hands were smeared with a mélange of substances and colors.

"Of course she's smart," John replied. "She takes after her mother." There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Holmes patted John's hand gently. "From that time I met her, I can safely say Rosie takes after _both_ her parents." The elder Holmes added, "Yes, both her parents." Sherlock snuck a glance at John, watching his expression. There was obvious pain in his eyes, as well as contemplation. "Her personality is more like mine, I think. She likes to keep to herself, whereas Mary was very extroverted." Sherlock was pleased that John had mentioned his late wife's name without falling apart. That was definitely progress.

"Wasn't Mikey supposed to be here yet?" Mildred fretted. John glanced at Sherlock, his eyebrow quirked. "Oh, it's just a nickname Mycroft _loves._ Make sure to call him that as often as possible." Turning to his mother, he replied, "He texted me about some work emergency that came up. He should be here in a few."

It had taken a lot of arm twisting to get his brother to come. Sherlock suspected that the emergency was nothing more than a delaying tactic, but had no proof. He was relieved when, fifteen minutes later, his brother's car appeared in the driveway. It would not have been pleasant to endure more of his parents' fretting, although he was secretly pleased at that. It was a sign of the repaired relationship of his brother and parents, which made for less drama and more peace in his life.

The customary barbs were traded between the siblings ( _"That will buy you an awful lot of chocolate bars, Mycroft!" "At least_ I _wasn't reduced to penury in the first five minutes of the game!_ ) and John found himself trading rueful looks and some wry words with the Holmes patriarch. "Were they always like this?" he asked. "No, sometimes they actually didn't get along." They chuckled, and found both brothers glaring at them, having overheard the remarks.

Mycroft's mobile phone beeped while he was trying to collecting rent from Sherlock, who was near broke and offered him a piece of fudge instead. Mycroft's demeanor instantly changed, the British Government coming to the fore, as he excused himself to make a call. The others continued playing for another few rounds, until John and Sherlock both went bankrupt and William Holmes emerged the winner. They went to check on Rosie, and found her with her newly dubbed Aunt Mildred, both seated on the carpet in the gym room, playing with an old set of blocks. Aunt Mildred was trying to teach Rosie how to build a tower, but her young protégé was more intent on bringing it down.

Sherlock and John joined them on the floor, each one trying to outdo the other with intricate architecture. After about half an hour, Sherlock excused himself to go find Mycroft. He didn't want to pass up an opportunity to get his brother on the floor, building with blocks next to a toddler. Perhaps he could even get some pictures...

He found him in his old room, talking intently on the phone while motioning to Sherlock to keep quiet. Sherlock quickly deduced whom he was speaking to by the amount of 'Yes, Madam's' he heard. Only the Prime Minister could command that amount of respect from Mycroft Holmes. Or the queen, but his stance would have been different when talking to Her Majesty. As he wasn't sent out of the room, he continued listening. There appeared to be a hostage situation in a foreign embassy, with four people being held by an unknown amount of terrorists.

Mycroft put down the phone and stared gravely at his brother. "We might need your help. Go see if Dr. Watson can accompany us." Sherlock nodded and went to bring John. The three men closed themselves in in Mycroft's room while he briefly explained the situation to them. The four people, three men and one woman, were all citizens of the foreign country in which embassy they worked. The terrorists had made demands of both the British government and their native country. Mycroft had recommended negotiations to stall for time, while assembling intelligence about the possibility of a raid.

"What if that isn't possible?" John inquired. "Will you agree to their demands?"

"No. That would be unwise. It would put the security of our country at risk, as well as send a message that we are giving in to terrorism."

"All they are asking for is the release of two of their leaders, as well as safe passage out of the country. Can't you just release them and then have them tracked or something? There are innocent lives at stake here. Isn't that more important than any policy you might have? Is it because these people aren't British, so it's not your problem?"

"Captain John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," Sherlock spoke up before his brother could respond.

"What was that?" John turned to him, puzzled.

"You were a soldier," Sherlock continued. "My brother is more like a general. Even as an army doctor, you must have had to make decisions to leave people behind. That's what the triage system is all about, right?" John reluctantly nodded at this. "A general needs to look at the bigger picture. He needs to take into account the impact his actions will have on everything surrounding the situation, both in the present and in the future. You can trust my brother and his associates to have calculated all of that and arrived at the best decision. I don't think anyone wants the hostages to die, and they will try their best to save them. Nevertheless, sometimes difficult decisions need to be made on the battlefield.

"We sometimes make the same type of decisions in our work, perhaps on a smaller scale, so its shouldn't be surprising to you." Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "You know, that day in Sherrinford, I finally understood what kind of responsibilities you're carrying around. It was your reaction to the girl on the plane that hit me. John and I were worried about the little girl, hoping to help her land, while you were hoping to get her to crash. It seemed to be the height of cruelty, but ultimately it was the opposite. It was about saving lives, wasn't it? You calculated that the chances of her landing the plane safely were close to zero-a little girl, alone, her only assistance being a person over the phone with no flying experience- the most you could do was prevent an even greater tragedy."

"He could have at least sounded like he cared!" John burst out, ignoring the fact that Mycroft was standing not three feet from him.

"This is not the first time you're making this mistake, John," Sherlock gently remonstrated with his friend. " You are mistaking lack of reaction for lack of caring. You did the same thing with me in the beginning. If my brother didn't care, he wouldn't bother with trying to save anyone at all. It would be easier to just leave things to play out by itself. Why would he and his associates be attempting a raid if they didn't care?

"It's easy to point fingers, but difficult to actually do the job. I for one am glad that the one doing it has a strong moral code and is actually somewhat competent."

"I'm glad that you put so much trust in the government, but we do need to get going," Mycroft said sarcastically.

" _You_ are the British Government, you idiot," Sherlock shot back.

"So you admit to trusting my judgment. That's definitely different. I think your friend should examine you to see if you are truly alright."

"I always said that you know what you're talking about. You just don't have to rub it in all the time."

"Alright, can we stop fighting over here, there's a battle to be won," John interjected. "I will drop off Rosie at Mrs. Hudson's and join you afterwards. Don't worry, Sherlock, I'll just shut up and do my job."

"Please don't be like that, John. Your opinion is very valuable, we just need to have trust between us to be able to work together," Sherlock said.

"We do appreciate your contributions, Dr. Watson. However, my brother is right. We can't have people second-guessing our every decision. We are all on the same side after all."

Sherlock went with Mycroft to the intelligence headquarters, where the situation was being handled. On the way, Mycroft spoke softly to Sherlock, while keeping his eyes on the road. "I do appreciate your coming to my defense. Your friend sometimes seems to believe the worst of me. That's understandable, really. We didn't quite get off on the right foot, what with me basically abducting him off the street. We've had plenty of disagreements, mostly over our common denominator-that happens to be you, by the way. There was also the little incident in your flat when you were in the hospital, which I'm sure he told you about."

Sherlock frowned. "You were there when he watched Mary's video? Oh, so that's what happened. Mrs. Hudson would have ordered you and your men out, and you must have stayed put. You can be really thick sometimes, you know that?"

"I was very worried about you Sherlock. I felt I needed to see the video to find the answer to your behavior."

"If you were so worried, why didn't you show up, call or something, like a proper brother? Why do you always need to resort to stalking?"

"If you insist on pressing that point, I suppose I'll tell you." Mycroft sighed, sounding both exasperated and defeated. "Do you remember what you told me as we left the aquarium, right after Mary Watson was shot?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, thinking hard. "I asked you, "All this time, there was a poisonous snake working under your very nose, and the great Mycroft Holmes didn't notice it?!" he repeated his words verbatim.

"I understood that you blamed me. I didn't want to risk a confrontation with you. I was afraid one or both of us would say or do something that would be irreparable."

"You were afraid of me," Sherlock whispered. "You were afraid I was out of control, and would hurt you without a second thought."

"I was afraid _for_ you, Sherlock. I was afraid that just hearing my voice would set you off. I didn't know what else I could do but monitor you. I hoped that your other friends would keep an eye on you. I knew Mrs. Hudson was there, and even that Wiggins guy wouldn't have let you kill yourself outright."

"I'm not sure about that last part, but I believe you. I've never been a very good brother, have I? I never thanked you when you helped me out. I heaped accusations and resentments on you, especially when I was high. I even got physical on occasion. Yet you kept on watching out for me. I had been thinking about that when I asked you about calling me for help. I figured out why you were so hurt. I broke the bro code."

"I'm not sure what exactly that means, but you don't have to do a full confessional now. You know I don't hold anything against you. You're turning out to be not too bad for a little brother, you know."

"That's my choice. I want to tell you about my deductions. First, I planned a prank with John to scare you out of you wits. That's rule number two of the bro code: one may torment a brother oneself, but must stand up for him when others do.

"I honestly didn't know how much it would affect you. The only times I have ever seen you so afraid is when I was in extreme danger. Then I made you come to my flat, and let Mrs. Hudson humiliate you. I treated you like a stranger. You said, "I'm not a client," and I told you, "then get out." I didn't even have a good reason for that treatment. I never gave you a chance to explain. That was rule number one: ones brother is family, and one should never deny that. It was ironic that I then referred to John as family. I don't think family is something that can be forced upon someone. It should have been your choice to consider him as such, regardless of my own feelings.

"You must have known all along whom I would choose if I ever had to make a choice between you. Even Moriarty knew. It should never have been so easy. The friend who gave me loyalty, warmth and happiness, versus the brother who kept me alive so I could experience that. _There shouldn't have been a choice at all!_ I would never have pointed a gun at John, and I shouldn't have done it to you. Yes, you made a major mistake. But this is me talking. If you needed to be shot for a mistake, then my body should have been riddled with bullets.

"You know why I never considered making such a choice? Because I never even considered losing you. You were always around, and I was always the one in danger, not you. I never thought about the consequences if you were gone. Now I have, and I really don't want that to happen. For a change, I will be the one to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mycroft. I will try to fulfill my fraternal duties in a more proper manner in the future."

"May I say something now?" Mycroft said. "The bro code is not an official piece of legislation ratified by Parliament, therefore I do not regard it as valid." He smirked at his brother, who grinned back. "Either way, apology accepted. Now back to work, we have lives to save."

 **A/N:** Phew! That was my longest chapter yet. I hope to resolve the hostage crisis in the next chapter. I don't think I can write too much action, but it would be interesting to see the trio working together (again).

This chapter is dedicated to KathyG, who got her wish fulfilled in the first part of the chapter. Hope you enjoyed!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** All the details about the embassy and its employees are totally made up. I hope no one take offense.

This is my first real action scene. I don't know how realistic it is, but I do hope you enjoy it. Let me know how it was!

 **Chapter Eleven**

Mycroft and Sherlock were introduced to the Italian team, whose embassy was the one under attack. The hostage situation was kept under wraps, and only those with clearance were informed. The ambassador, Roberto Antonelli, was present, along with a select team of Italian agents, who had quickly been flown over. There were four British government officials present besides Mycroft. Sherlock was glad to see Lady Smallwood was one of them. She was definitely less idiotic and more practical than some of the other bureaucrats. She acknowledged him with a small nod which he returned.

Mycroft was introduced by his code name, Antarctica. His position in the government was a sensitive one, and he was known by name only in the upper echelons of the Italian government. The Italian agents were considered trustworthy, but the British Government preferred to avoid unnecessary risks. John arrived shortly afterwards, and was introduced as Sherlock's partner, part of the 'consulting team.' Major Di Maggio, who was leading the team of Special Forces, was unimpressed by their credentials.

"I do not understand, sir, why the you have brought in the outside consulting team," the Major argued. "I have heard about the work of Mr. Holmes, and I do think he is an excellent detective. However, this is a hostage situation, not a criminal case to be solved. We need men with the right training to infiltrate the embassy and take out the terrorists. With all due respect, they do not have the right background for this."

Mycroft resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. He put on his most intimidating demeanor, a cold smile with a hint of menace. "Of course, Major, we will involve the necessary forces at the right time. We have SAS teams on standby. What we need first is the planning, and that requires the gathering of _information._ The more information we have, the better we can prepare for every eventuality. Sharpshooters are of no help if they don't no whom to shoot, correct?" He asked, the last question in a voice dripping with condescension, and watched with pleasure as the Major shrank back, chastened. In an undertone, so only his brother and the doctor could hear, he muttered, "God save us all from the goldfish." Sherlock and John were for once in full agreement with him.

"Now, I do believe that our consulting team has some information about the terror group responsible for the attack," he continued. "They call themselves Tahir's Warriors, and are based in Karachi. They are believed to have ties to the ousted Taliban government. Their leader, by the name of Tahir Dawar, is imprisoned in Italy on charges of terrorism and conspiracy. His second-in-command is believed to be leading this attack, with the goal of getting the leader freed.

"I believe Mr. Holmes here has a contact inside the organization," Mycroft stared at his brother meaningfully. Sherlock's eyes widened minutely, before he donned an impassive expression. His brother looked back at him smugly. _Damn!_ Sherlock thought. _He knows! He knows Irene's alive, and that I saved her from that that terror group!_ _When did he find out about_ that _! He must have known a while now, and saved it for the perfect time to blackmail me!_

"I'm afraid my contact is currently no longer in the field," he responded nonchalantly. "However, he might have valuable information about the organization and the members involved. Have you figured out how many operatives are currently inside the embassy, and do you have any identities?

In response, Mycroft asked for the footage of the security cameras monitoring the embassy to be put on screen. He also requested a list of employees working in the building, accompanied by a complete file on each employee. There was also Since there were no reports of tampering with the security system, the agents assumed that the terrorists had entered through the front door, under the very noses of the security guards. They must have had inside help to pull it off.

The attack happened on a Sunday, when the embassy was officially closed. Going through the records of the employees, Antonelli quickly zeroed in on a minor clerk who didn't usually come in on Sundays, but was in the building to replace a colleague who regularly assisted one of the hostages, a high ranking diplomat by the name of Francesca Beneventi. He had successfully 'escaped', along with a number of other employees who happened to be present. He the most likely suspect, as the terrorists had most likely targeted Beneventi due to her value, and had known exactly where to find her. Further research showed that the clerk had admitted five individuals who claimed to have an emergency with a sick relative. They dispatched several agents to look for the clerk.

The images of the individuals who had arrived were enlarged and clarified by the tech team, and then and John took the pictures and went to pay a visit to a certain gas station. Sherlock rolled down the window, and greeted the dark-skinned attendant with a friendly, "Hello, would you happen to have some oil for my fish and chips?" He then drove to a street on the outskirts of London, and let himself in with a key to what seemed to be a deserted apartment. After half an hour, the attendant from the gas station showed up.

"What happened now, my friend?" he inquired anxiously. "Say hello, to Ahmed, John," Sherlock instructed. "I helped him get into England and start a new life in exchange for some services he provided."

After reassuring Ahmed that John could be trusted, Sherlock gave John a summary of the man's background. He had been recruited into Tahir's organization as a teenager, and had become disillusioned with the violence he had witnessed and the abuse he had experienced from his handlers. When Sherlock had contacted him several years ago, he had helped him infiltrate the organization and save Irene Adler. Sherlock had then gotten him into England under an assumed identity.

The detective showed him the photographs he had taken along. Ahmed recognized the first two, and shook his head at the next two. At the last one, he began cursing in Pashto. "Is there a problem?" John asked mildly-in Pashto. "Tour of duty in Afghanistan," he explained, in response to Ahmed's surprise. "I picked up a lot."

"That one's dangerous," Abdul pointed to the last picture. "Fazal Mahsud, second-in-command, acting commander since Tahir was captured. He's a sly fox, and one of the cruelest men I've ever met. You be careful with him, you hear me?"

The duo proceeded to interrogate their informant, milking him for details about the organization in general and the three men in particular. When they finished, they headed back to headquarters. It turned out that the other members of the team hadn't been sitting on there hands, and had procured information from other sources. Now the fun began, with all the information being put together like a puzzle and analyzed. Mycroft and Sherlock began deducing at a dizzying speed, leaving the others watching like spectators at a sports event. The competitive element was definitely there.

"His choice of weapon, when combined with his background in breeding horses, shows a capacity for innovation, and perseverance-" Sherlock began his deductions about

"However, his left hand shows scarring that are consistent with hard labor-" Mycroft interrupted, and the deduction duel really got off the ground. The others only picked up bits and pieces.

"Substandard income, but higher-end shoes-"

"Suit well-cut, but several years old, means a cut in funding at the time of-"

"Couldn't rely on his family, as evidenced by his history of marijuana use, only at specific times, coinciding with-"

"Not from a blade, that scar under his eye is more consistent with a nail scratch-"

And on it went. John observed his best friend, delighted to see the fire in his eyes, which had been absent for some time. Mycroft seemed to be enjoying himself as well. Within twenty minutes, they had put together a complete profile on each suspect, complete with their strengths and weak spots that could be exploited. Specail attention was of course given to Fazal, who was thought to be the greatest obstacle.

"They seem to have a language of their own," Di Maggio remarked to John in bewilderment. "I couldn't keep up with that."

"Well, they have worked together before on cases," John remarked neutrally.

"You could have thought they're twins," Di Maggio continued. "But I suppose it's a good thing they aren't. The way they are competing, they would have killed each other."

"It's probably a good thing," John agreed mildly, while internally hyperventilating at the very thought.

"Do you have anything to add, John?" Sherlock turned to him.

"Not much. I can just provide my perspective from my time in Afghanistan. I think that the younger recruits are more idealistic, and will blindly follow orders. However, if they lose their leader, they will quickly abandon ship. The more experienced members are less willing to sacrifice themselves on a whim, but may try to step in if the leader falls."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. We will keep that in mind while planning the raid," Mycroft said.

There was much back and forth between all members of the rescue team, but finally, a plan was hatched.

"Lets get going," Sherlock urged. "The game is on."

* * *

Francesca Beneventi was sitting uncomfortably on the floor and leaning against the wall, a black hijab covering her hair and three assault rifles pointing in her general direction. The three other hostages were leaning against the same wall. It was ten hours since she had been taken hostage, and she was hungry, tired, and afraid. A fourth man entered and bid her to rise. "You are to receive treatment for your blood pressure, and will return afterwards, unless your government finally concedes to our demands. We are not heartless, you see. We let you get treatment. Your government is keeping you here by your stubbornness."

Francesca lowered her head seemingly in submission, but in reality to hide the expression on her face. She was puzzled by the necessity of medical treatment for a condition that was pretty minor and well in control. Being an intelligent woman and a skilled diplomat, she figured that someone had highly exaggerated her condition in order to get her out. However, the terrorist had mentioned her returning. Whatever game was being played, she would play along and hope that her would-be rescuers knew what they were doing.

As she was being led out of the building, she saw the fifth hostage taker leading an unfamiliar man in. The man was short and had dirty blond hair. The terrorist turned to her and said, "Remember, Mrs. Beneventi, you have two hours. If you aren't back by then, we shoot this man." So they had insurance to force her to come back. No wonder, since she was the most valuable hostage they had. She sincerely hoped the man would survive his ordeal. She didn't want his death on her conscience.

Dr. John Watson was thoroughly frisked and then pushed down on the floor next to the other hostages. He protested that he was a doctor and had been promised a chance to examine the other hostages to make sure they were alright. After checking in with Fazal, the hostage taker gave him permission to approach the other hostages, under close scrutiny.

John addressed the terrorist who had brought him in, speaking in Pashto. The man originated from Afghanistan, and grew up in a village on the outskirts of Kabul. "I was in Afghanistan several years ago. I visited Kabul. Bit of a mess when I was there. I've heard it used to be a great city."

"What were you doing there?" the man asked suspiciously.

"I'm a doctor. I volunteered to help people in need," John answered, sticking to the truth while avoiding mention of his military background. "Your army destroyed our beautiful country," he growled, and then launched into an enthusiastic description of the village he had grown up in, and the city of Kabul. The two other hostage takers silently watched their exchange. John began a cursory examination on the first hostage, while keeping up the conversation. While the terrorist continued his rant, he asked the man how he felt, and if he had any medical conditions. Keeping his voice low and reassuring, he told the man, "Code word cannoli, lie flat on the floor." He went on to examine the other hostages, and slipped in the same sentences in his conversation, while keeping half an ear on the terrorist's ramblings, and responding when necessary.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was engaging Fazal in a battle of wits and will. His purpose was to keep the commander engaged and distracted from his hostages. He had needed to use all his diplomatic skills, plus a healthy dash of guile, to have the man not only agree to his conditions, but to believe that he had come up with the ideas himself. Mycroft had stressed Beneventi's delicate health, and insisted she be released. He had manipulated the conversation so that the terrorist had demanded she return within a specific time frame, and also required that an additional hostage be brought.

When Mycroft had expressed concern over the other's health, citing some true but highly exaggerated issues, Fazal became angry and yelled at him to bring a doctor in if he wanted. Mycroft 'gave in' and even offered to have them keep the doctor as hostage. He then engaged him in an intricate discussion of the details of their demands, and the logistics required to fulfill it. When he sensed the man getting edgy, he began a conversation about the terrorist's ideals and goals. The man was only too willing to present his point of view. Mycroft had to admit that the man had a way with words, and made good use of rhetoric. He also loved to play to an audience, and Mycroft's job was to be one for him. His head was starting to ache, his steely nerves were getting frayed, and he began wishing he had just gone for legwork. Almost.

Sherlock's job was to take care of the next part of the plan. He needed to meet and coach the woman who would be returned to the embassy. The Italian and British forces were in position, and the press was kept far, far, away. The mistakes of the Munich Massacre would not be repeated over here.

Beneventi was being returned to the embassy, wearing her hijab. Mycroft insisted at that moment that Fazal call his second-in-command to confirm the details of their negotiations. He complied, calling the man into the office, leaving the hostages with two gun-toting terrorists in a side room. The third terrorist brought Mrs. Beneventi into the room and shoved her to the floor. She whimpered, and beckoned to her captor. "Please, sir, I need help..." The terrorist approached her and bent over to hear what she was saying. In that instant, she screamed, "Cannoli!" and kicked out to trip the man. At the same moment, John Watson did a complicated karate move involving his elbows and his heels, and had his surprised captor in a heap on the floor while the shout was still reverberating. The remaining terrorist fired a shot in the hostages' direction, which ended up hitting the wall, as the hostages were face down on the floor.

and Beneventi grabbed their captors' assault rifles and pointed it at the door. After a few moments, they heard the sounds of the Special Forces moving in, and gunshots being fired in the nearby office. The door was broken open, and they stood down when they saw their rescuers had arrived. The rest of the hostages got up and stared in wonder at Beneventi, who turned out to not be Beneventi at all. She had been replaced by a trained operative, and the hijab had provided the perfect cover. The real diplomat was being treated in the hospital for shock.

"Job well done, Doctor Watson," a smooth voice declared. John turned to see Mycroft approaching him. "You were awesome!" another voice announced, and he felt someone clap him on the shoulder. "It was great fun and all," he addressed the Holmes' brothers. "But I really do need to pick up Rosie, or Mrs. Hudson will finish what the terrorists didn't manage to."


	12. Chapter 12

The weather was nice and balmy, when he had hoped for once for it to be dreary and wet. Perhaps it would have put him in the mood he was trying to achieve. It felt disrespectful, somehow, to be soaking in the sunshine while standing over the grave of his very first friend.

Sherlock Holmes had gone to visit Victor Trevor, for the first time in over thirty years. He had expected something to happen; maybe some kind of breakdown, perhaps some kind of breakthrough, he wasn't sure what. He didn't expect to stand here and feel so empty. There was no geyser of pain erupting, no anger or any type of emotion at all. The emptiness he felt was not a black hole that threatened to suck him in. It was a numbness that spread through him and left him devoid of any ability to connect to the reality he found himself in.

The Trevor's had held a private funeral for close family only. The Holmes' family had sent condolences by letter, not being sure about the propriety of personal ones. It was, after all, a member of their family responsible for the tragedy, no matter that they wouldn't be held personally responsible. Extra sensitivity was required in this case, and it was now up to the Trevor's to reach out, if they so desired. It was two months after the funeral now, and Sherlock had finally come to pay his friend a visit, hoping to confront, connect, and perhaps lay his ghosts to rest.

Since the funeral, there were subtle hints from his friends and family. "Would you have wanted to be there?" John had asked sympathetically on the day of the funeral. "We've given the Trevor's the go ahead," Lestrade delicately mentioned, when the remains had been transferred to the family. Even Molly had had her piece to say, after they had reconciled, of course. "I'm wondering if you had in mind to pay your respects... your friend, I mean...If you want me to come with you, or anything else you need, I'm here for you, Sherlock." He had pecked her on the cheek and thanked her, then reassured her that he was fine, perfectly fine.

Mummy and Dad had brought up the topic with the delicacy of a surgeon taking a scalpel to a patient's brain. "We've sent our condolences to the Trevor's... They got a plot at the churchyard. This is up to you, but if you are ever ready, know that we are there for you in every way," Mummy said. "In every way, son," Dad had added. "Remember that." Mycroft had simply told him, "Whatever you decide to do, I'll be there for you."

The consultant detective had woken up one random day and called his ever-faithful friend. "Today, John. I want to go today." He had woken up that morning and realized that no, things were not the same as before, but that didn't really matter. He was patching his life back together, he had John back, he had other people in his life he cared for deeply, and best of all, he was alive. He could do it.

The result was a bit like pulling your arm back and punching the wall, and then realizing that the wall was nothing but a smokescreen. You brace yourself for pain, then you overshoot and lose your balance. He silently turned around and went to get John, who was waiting outside of the cemetery for him.

* * *

"It's not so much the memories, I've gotten back a big portion of that," Sherlock explained later that day, ensconced in his chair at Baker Street. "I just feel disconnected from them. As if it's a movie I'm watching. Look, I don't think we have to do this. You don't have to believe every bloody thing your therapist ever told you. I'm not _bottling up,_ or _disassociating,_ or what have you. It happened a long time ago, I've forgotten about it once, and I suppose I've mostly gotten over it."

"If you say so, Sherlock," John sighed. "I know you're a very convinceing liar, I didn't know you're good enough to convince even yourself." He let the topic drop, and they trooped down to Mrs. Hudson for a complimentary dinner.

Several weeks later, the hostage crisis had occurred, and then been resolved. The day afterwards, Mycroft had formally invited the detective and his partner to his office to tie up some loose ends. They gave their statements and chatted a bit with the rest of the team. Sherlock showed off with his Italian, which was quite decent. Major Di Maggio approached Mycroft and commented, "I can't understand why you haven't recruited these two yet. If your people won't take them, I will." Mycroft wished him good luck in that endeavor, not feeling threatened in the least.

Sherlock insisted that they make reservations for that night to celebrate. John and Mycroft were suspicious of his motives, with good reason. "It's John's birthday," Sherlock insisted. "Not for another three weeks," John protested. "Don't be daft," Sherlock hissed at him. "We can't give up the opportunity to have Mycroft pay for your birthday bash!"

"Oh, and then you won't have to attend my party, because you celebrated already, right?" John lifted an eyebrow. "And you consider this your gift to me, even if you aren't spending a pence?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother too. John just shook his head and said, "I'm pretty beat. Let's go to Baker Street and order in. We would be pleased to have you, Mycroft, it was your operation after all."

Mycroft came along somewhat reluctantly, and quickly found himself with an armful of squirming toddler. He held her somewhat stiffly as John and Sherlock washed up, and gave her back to her Dad with barely concealed relief. Sherlock smirked at him. "Ever consider getting one of your own? You would be such a wonderful father. You would implant your child with GPS tracking and install cameras in every inch of her school...And then kidnap all her friends and scare them off."

"I don't need a child, I have a little brother who never grew up. Dr. Watson, I'm sure you'd like to hear all about Sherlock's childhood. Did he ever tell you about the man trap he set up for Father Christmas?"

"That's low of you, Mycroft. You know I have enough material on you, so don't start."

"Not the kind that I have," Mycroft retorted smugly. "I've known you since you've been in nappies."

"And I know who ate an entire birthday cake at midnight, and claimed it wasn't theft because it was for his birthday, and his birthday had already occurred."

"Please don't fight, children," John said wearily. "I'd hate to have to put you both in time out. But seriously, Mycroft, I'd love to hear more. And you can call me John, you know. I'm too knackered for formality now."

Mycroft relished in sharing a few juicy tidbits, which were all firmly denied by the protagonist of his stories. Sherlock didn't take it lying down, and told his own tales, which were slightly less than believable and all highly exaggerated, according to his brother. John discreetly took out his mobile phone and filmed the exchange. It was always good to have some blackmail handy.

"Sherlock and Victor together were two little terrors," Mycroft was saying. "I had a secret stash of goodies, which Mummy and the housekeeper never discovered. Mummy was always stumped about why her attempts at putting me on a diet didn't seem to be working. One day, I retrieved the container, and saw a skull and crossbones had been drawn on it, along with a few threats about drowning me at sea. Shocked, I opened the container, and found myself swarmed by beetles."

"You shrieked like a girl," Sherlock laughed gleefully. "It took us days of hard work to collect the critters, but it was totally worth it."

"Not to worry, I had my revenge," Mycroft smirked. "They claimed an abandoned rowboat near the lake as their pirate ship. I prepared a small surprise for them. I painted it pink with red hearts all over and named it "The Sissy Ship." Then I filled it with dolls and teddies. I caught pictures of them standing next to it, mouths open, and threatened to distribute the pictures at school."

"That was mean," Sherlock complained. "And you were supposed to be a good influence, too."

Mycroft watched Sherlock carefully, hiding his concern beneath his smug smiles and taunting tones. Sherlock appeared to remember most incidents and Mycroft filled in several gaps when he didn't. His little brother seemed to be enjoying himself, alternately laughing and whining at the embarrassing parts. The elder brother nevertheless found it hard to switch off his internal monitoring system, always alert and ready for trouble from the younger one.

It happened when the incident of the treasure hunt was discussed. One minute, Sherlock was laughing at the memory of having set Mycroft off on a hunt for his homework, which the two terrors had held hostage, and the next minute he was holding his head in his hands, and saying, "I don't feel so well."

John gently probed him about his symptoms. Sherlock claimed dizziness and nausea, and then got up and headed to the loo. The sounds of retching was heard shortly afterwards from that direction. John threw a look in Mycroft's direction, and the latter motioned him to go on. The doctor knocked on the bathroom door and asked if everything was alright. "I'll be fine, give me few minutes."

Several minutes later, Sherlock emerged shakily. John guided him to the sofa and bade him to lie down. Mycroft fetched a blanket and covered him gently. "What's going on, Sherlock?" the doctor questioned.

"I remembered. Not remembered, I _was there._ " Sherlock said hoarsely. "I was screaming and screaming and screaming... I was terrified for Victor. I couldn't find him. I imagined him disappearing into a big black hole, screaming for me to save him. I was afraid I was going to disappear next..." Sherlock's voice broke, and to his horror, he felt tears in his eyes. "Was so afraid...I didn't want to disappear..."

"You had a flashback," John said softly. He brought a chair to the sofa and sat down. He began stroking Sherlock's arm. Mycroft took his post on the other side, laying a calming hand on his brother's legs. "We won't let you disappear, Sherlock. We're right here," John whispered soothingly. It felt strange to treat his friend in this manner, but his heart told him it wasn't his friend lying on the sofa. Instead, it was a terrified little boy who had just had the rug pulled from under his feet.

"I begged Mummy and Daddy to help me find Redbeard. They couldn't find him." Sherlock began sobbing at this point. "I begged Eurus to tell me where he was. She just stared at me and told me to listen to her song. I asked her if I was going to disappear too, and she told me, 'Everyone will disappear. You die, and then you disintegrate.' Then she sang... and, and..." Sherlock stopped talking, and took a few deep breaths.

"Mycroft," he said suddenly. "Where were you?" John moved away from Sherlock and let Mycroft approach. "Don't you remember, Sherlock? I was there, right beside you, the entire night. I held you for hours, I tried to reassure you, but you wouldn't calm down."

"I know," Sherlock sniffed. "But you didn't find him. Why didn't you find him, Mycroft? He was lost, and so afraid. You were so big and smart and strong, and you didn't find him for me!"

"That's right, little brother. I couldn't find him, and I'm afraid that deep down, you never forgave me for that."

Sherlock grabbed at Mycroft's arms and dug in his nails. Mycroft patted his curls and told him to take deep breaths. John took his wrist and checked his pulse. "A bit elevated, but nothing to be worried about. Sherlock, I can give you something to calm down if you need it." Sherlock shook his head and sniffed. "I'm fine. I'm sorry for carrying on like this. I'm not sure what happened to me."

"You're not carrying on, Sherlock, you're mourning what you never had a chance to mourn. You're mourning for what you lost that night. You lost a friend, and your innocence, and in a way, you lost your sister too. You're human, Sherlock Holmes, and you're allowed to grieve."

"Why now," Sherlock whispered. " I didn't cry in Musgrave. I didn't cry at cemetery. I don't know what made me break down like this."

"You allowed yourself to feel, brother mine," Mycroft said. "When we were talking, you relaxed your guard and let your emotions take over. You experienced the happiness you felt then, and the affection you had for your friend, and you had no barriers left when you recalled that terrible night."

"In other words, I let sentiment get the better of me," Sherlock said with a touch of bitterness.

Mycroft sighed. "I was wrong, Sherlock. Caring is an advantage. You will get back to yourself only because you have people who care about you. Don't close yourself off again, Sherlock. You have people to hold your hand as you ride out the waves. Don't make the same mistakes I made, little brother."

The British Government and the former army medic watched as the little boy turned grownup closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Real life's gotten a bit hectic, but I felt the need to rescue this fic before it faded into oblivion. I'll be wrapping things up now with another chapter or two, unless someone has an idea for something else they'd like to see in here. And, as always, don't forget to review.

P.S. I've written and updated some one-shots. Wouldn't it be lovely if you read and reviewed it? Answer: God, yes!

* * *

 _A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the forest. The young boy trudged through the muddy forest floor, taking care to avoid the jutting rocks and gnarled tree roots. He tried to follow the voice calling to him. "Mycrooooft!" the voice sang. "Come play with me! Mycrooooft! Can you find me!" The voice was beautiful, silvery and tinkling, like a fairy's. He suddenly noticed the back of a pigtailed head in the distance, and hurried to follow. "Mycrooooft!" the voice sang again. "I'm coming to get you!" The voice echoed in the vast woods. "Coming to get you! Coming to get you!" The tree barks had faces growing out of them, and the faces had blood pouring from their eyes. The branches of the trees turned into arms that reached for him as numerous voices echoed around him, "Coming to get you, get you, get you..."_

 _There was a steady pitter-patter of raindrops on the deck of the ship. Mycroft had his hands tied behind his back, as he watched two men approach him, swords in their hands. They were dressed all in black, and they wore pirate hats on their heads and eye-patches on their left eyes. The taller one spoke up. "Mycroft Holmes, you have betrayed us. We sentence you to walk the plank." Mycroft shivered. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry..." The tears that ran down his cheeks mixed with the raindrops. "There is no forgiveness for you, brother mine," the taller man told him. The men took off their eye-patches, and he recog_ _nized John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, standing side by side._

 _"My brother is a murderer," he choked out, his throat tightening. "He's gone off the deep end. We need to lock him up in Sherrinford. You know what happened to the other one... They need to be locked up. This is all my fault, Lady Smallwood. I couldn't protect them from themselves._ I _am the murderer."_

 _"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes," Lady Holmes sniffed. "You have a heart of ice. Whatever made you think I would be interested in you?"_

 _"Hello, old friend," James Moriarty greeted him heartily. Moriarty looked bruised and battered, as if Mycroft's minions had just given him a thorough work over. "I've heard you became my successor. My, my, at the rate you're going, you'll soon be outstripping me!"_

 _"I don't know what you're talking about," Mycroft replied stiffly._

 _"Oh, that's a great one!" Moriarty was holding his sides with laughter. "All those little games you play, all those little risks you took... look around you, buddy!"_

 _Mycroft looked around and found himself locked into Eurus's cell in Sherrinford. Around him were piles of bodies, staring at him with blank eyes. The governor and his wife, Victor, Sherlock, John, even Mummy and Dad. Blood was running from their eyes. He heard echoes all around him. "This is all you fault, your fault, you fault..._

* * *

"What's going on, Mycroft?" the consultant detective confronted his older brother, whose office he had just invaded.

"With what?" his brother responded neutrally.

"Come on, you _know_ what I'm talking about. What happened between you and Alicia?"

"I honestly don't see how that's any concern of yours, brother mine. Don't you have important things to do? I've heard a lizard's gone missing from the zoo. Oh, and the coffee in the refreshment room has mysteriously depleted. Shall I put you on it?"

"No. Don't try to evade me now. You know it won't work. You were supposed to see _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ at the theatre yesterday with Alicia. You canceled. You canceled last week's date. And the one before. What are you playing at?"

"You never have learned your lesson about involving yourself in matters that do not concern you, have you? Now, I do have some important matters to attend to. Kindly see yourself out."

"That's not true. It is very much my concern, brother mine. I'm concerned about your mental state. You had a good thing going, and now you're sabotaging it for no discernible reason. Have you gotten addled in your mind?"

"Thank you _very_ _much_ for your tender concern. I assure you, I am of sound mind, and my romantic relationships are still no concern of yours."

Sherlock stared at his brother, his eyes hardening. "I can't believe this. If you feel that you and Alicia are not compatible, why don't you have a serious conversation with her and end this? Why are you leaving her hanging like this?"

Mycroft looked taken aback, and then began chuckling. "I can't believe that Sherlock Holmes is dispensing relationship advice. I hope you don't plan to make a living out of it."

"Nah, I don't provide this service for just anyone. Only for my big brother, when he is behaving like a coward and a fool."

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft replied in a very polite, very tight voice, one which most people had the sense to take as a warning to back off. Which, naturally, Sherlock took as an invitation to continue.

"I'm not blind, and neither am I a fool. I can see that you like her, and for some unfathomable reason she feels the same about you. You are afraid to continue, because you see it's getting serious. You also don't want to break it off, because you don't want to hurt her feelings. You are hoping she'll break it off herself eventually. Tell me _why._ _Why_ are you running like a coward now, when you finally have a mutually satisfying relationship with someone?"

Mycroft looked down at his desk for a long moment, and then began to speak quietly. "Sherlock, I really do appreciate your concern. However, I am sure you know yourself why I must end this. Truthfully, I never should have gotten involved. Lady Smallwood was very persistent, and I didn't think anything would come of it. For courtesy's sake, I indulged her, never dreaming things would get this far. You know me, Sherlock. You know what I am. I cannot pursue a romantic relationship. It would be unfair to the other party."

"Yes, I know what you are. You're the bloody British Government. So what? Why does it matter, especially in this case?"

"Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean. Does 'Iceman' ring any bells? Women expect their romantic partners to be emotionally involved, and continuously show proof of sentiment. They expect roses and breakfast in bed, and all sorts of nonsense. Then they want to have heart-to-hearts all the time, and expect great shows of sympathy as they pour their woes into your ears. I am a practical man, Sherlock, and I'm not built for all that."

Sherlock smirked at his brother. "Lies, and more lies. I've seen the type of rubbish movies you watch, and I've watched you on your dates. You are an old-fashioned romantic at heart, and Alicia loves it. I've seen you kiss her knuckles, for goodness sake, and that had her giggling like a schoolgirl! Pull the one with the bells. Better, tell me the truth before I take matters into my own hands."

Mycroft paled considerably at that. He spread out his hands in front of him as if in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'm afraid. I've messed up every single important relationship in my life until now. I've disappointed our parents, I messed up with my sister. And all of that doesn't compare to how much I've messed up with _you._ The most terrible thing is that I believe I tried my best, in every case. Tell me, little brother, if that is what I am capable of when trying my best, why put myself into another relationship to mess up? Mummy was definitely right about one thing. I'm very limited in this area."

Sherlock clenched his fists, and then unclenched it again. He was biting his lips, and his eyes were shooting sparks. "You ridiculous, dull-witted, lunatic, dunderheaded, insane, imbecilic nincompoop-"

"I sincerely hope you haven't used up your entire vocabulary by now," Mycroft interjected sarcastically.

"You've very recently told me not to close myself off from people. You've admitted that it was a mistake to do so. So why are you still doing it? You know, I also think Mummy was right." Sherlock saw a flash of hurt in his brother's eyes, but plowed on. " You're limited. So what? So am I. So is every single person on this planet. But what you're doing now, is _limiting yourself._ You still obsess about all that you couldn't do, instead of realizing how much you actually did. Wake up and smell the coffee! You were the bedrock of the family for so many years. Our parents still trust you, and still rely on you. I don't know if anyone could have prevented what Eurus did, and you did take care of her as best as you could. And about me, _are you kidding me_? I would have been either six feet under or a Moriarty-style psychopath if I didn't have you! You made mistakes, so learn from them, and do better next time! That's no excuse to run away!"

Mycroft sighed deeply, and slowly shook his head. "It's too late for me, Sherlock. I can't change now."

Sherlock dropped his voice to a venomous hiss. "Listen to yourself. You are not even fifty, and you've already given up on yourself. I suspect you've given up rather a long time ago. _All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage..._ Sounds familiar? You believed you will never be happy. You convinced yourself you don't _deserve_ to be happy. Your whole life, you blamed yourself for not preventing all the suffering around you. Eurus, Redbeard, my drug use...You told yourself it all doesn't matter, so it wouldn't hurt so much. For forty-eight years, you have been a dead man walking." Sherlock paused his monologue, and leaned closer to his brother. "Perhaps you should... _START LIVING ALREADY!_ "

Sherlock turned on his heels and left the office, slamming the door on his way out. Mycroft watched him leave, and then sank his head into his hands, and stayed that way for a long, long while.

* * *

"Lady Smallwood," Sherlock greeted politely, inclining his head.

"Mr. Holmes," the woman behind the desk returned the courtesy. "My secretary informed me you would like to speak with me regarding an urgent matter. How can I be of help?"

"The matter I wish to discuss is more personal in nature."

"Pardon?" Lady Smallwood straightened her back and gave him a puzzled look.

"Lady Smallwood," Sherlock intoned gravely. "What are your intentions regarding my brother?"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I don't know what age Lady Smallwood is supposed to be, but for the sake of my story, I'll make her 51, three years older than Mycroft. Besides, if she was trying to get a date with Mycroft, it would make more sense if she's close in age, than if she's the same age as her late husband (early sixties).

Next chapter will probably be the final one, and then perhaps an epilogue. Thank you so much for your continued support! I've written more one-shots, and would appreciate if you took the time to read that too.

* * *

"I hadn't expected that particular question from _you,_ Mr. Holmes," the lady told him with a slight frown. "But then again, you don't really do predictable, do you?" Her Sherlock detected a twinkle in her eyes.

"Call me Sherlock, please," the detective flashed a charming grin. "No worries, I'm on your side. I think I can help. I just want to know if you're really serious about my brother before I undertake any further... action."

Alicia's lips quirked into a small smile. "You may call me Alicia, since you're here on personal business. Forgive me for asking, but are you aware that you're brother is a legal adult? I'm sure he can manage his affairs on his own."

"Alicia," Sherlock dropped his grin and looked at her seriously. "You know my brother. You know how hard it is for him to express his feelings, especially if there's a chance he could be rejected. For his sake and for yours, why don't you just tell me in short what you think about him. I promise not to interfere further if you don't want me to."

The lady sighed and folded her hands on the desk. "Very well. I believe I can trust you that our conversation goes no further than this room." She gave him a stern look that made him feel like a naughty schoolboy, and he nodded his head obediently.

"I've been working with your brother directly upwards of fifteen years. I've watched him investing his heart and soul into his work. I've watched him interact with colleagues and employees, with government officials and diplomats. I've seen him handling crisis after crisis, and never shirk his duty. Let me tell you this, Sherlock Holmes. People like Mycroft Holmes are rare, very rare.

"He is, of course, exceptionally intelligent, and his position is one that many view as the kingpin of the government. Not many people in similar positions remain completely uncorrupted. Your brother still does his job with utmost devotion because it _matters_ to him. It matters that the country be secure, and that people can go about their lives without disruption. He doesn't make it about him, about what he can gain from his position, only about how best to do is job. That is something I really admire."

"I'm not surprised to hear that, Alicia, I know Mycroft to be very straight-laced and dutiful. I do sometimes wonder how he gets on with others he works with. Personally, I can find him to be an annoying pain in the neck, if you know what I mean." He winked at her.

"Now, now, I know you two've had you're little... squabbles. However, I'm sure you want what's best for him, isn't that so? Or you'd hardly be here." Lady Smallwood stifled a grin.

"Well, it's my brother. I'm bound to find him irritating now and then. But, honestly speaking, I'm sure he's not the easiest man to work with at times."

"I'll admit that he has high standards and he suffers no fools. That's why only the best work for him. He may not admit it, but he cares deeply for his employees. They always get taken care of when they need it. Though, admittedly, it sometimes freaks them out to find out that he knows exactly what they need before they ever said a word." This time, she let her grin show."

"Yeah, I can just imagine that," Sherlock mused. "Here you go, John, a bonus and a hotel weekend to take care of your pregnant wife. Yes, you haven't told anybody yet. I just knew it from the creases in your shirt." He chuckled.

"If I may be somewhat indelicate, I want to ask you something a bit personal," he continued. I suppose you're aware that Mycroft is not an overly sentimental man. Isn't that something that... concerns you?"

"I wonder a bit who you're really worried about. Is it me, or your brother?" Alicia asked softly.

"Both of you," he answered firmly.

Alicia nodded. "Honestly speaking, your brother may sometimes disregard emotions as unimportant, and is wary of too much sentiment. However, I believe that he is slowly changing in that regard. I also believe that he needs to have outside input in order to learn more about human sentiment, and truthfully, how to let himself feel once in a while."

Sherlock gave her a penetrating gaze. "And you believe you could be the outside input."

"Yes," she answered unhesitatingly.

"I feel I need to inform you that whatever your brother may say, I never believed for a moment that he doesn't care. In fact, it was seeing just how deeply he cares for his family that led me to get involved with him personally. Although he was constantly denying it, probably to avoid accusations of nepotism, even a blind man could see how much he's concerned about all of you. Especially you, Sherlock. You will never even know how many times he put himself professionally and personally at risk for you, but I do. I hope you do appreciate it, deep down at least, although you two don't have the type of relationship where you openly express such sentiments."

Sherlock looked contemplative at this. "I do, Alicia, I do. And I care for him, too. That's why I'm going to ask you, not as a threat, but as a plea; please don't hurt him. He's been hurt enough. If you ever want to break off with him, please let him down gently."

Alicia looked at his earnest face, and giggled. "My, my, aren't we overprotective today! Don't worry, I won't." A spark of mischief appeared in her eyes. "Now, you were saying something about help. What do you think you can offer, Sherlock Holmes?"

 _I think I like her,_ Sherlock thought, and proceeded to outline his plan.

* * *

Mycroft was sitting on his sofa, looking forward to a well deserved rest after his difficult day. The glass of scotch on the coffee table was a treat he rarely indulged in, but sorely needed after barely managing to resolve the issue in parliament, where warring parties nearly destroyed the bill he had worked so hard on. When he heard the now-familiar alarm signal, however, he was tempted to throw the glass against the wall.

"Not bloody again," he grumbled as the curly head popped into view.

"Language, brother mine," the curly headed child-man answered cheerfully. "Tsk, tsk, what would Mummy say?"

"Don't be a bloody hypocrite, you say far worse," Mycroft answered moodily. "I didn't think I deserve another lecture, I actually behaved myself recently.

"Can't I just come say hello to my dearest and only brother?" Sherlock let honey drip from every syllable. Mycroft had to restrain himself from smacking him.

"I was just about to watch a program on TV. You're more than welcome to join me. Otherwise, shut up."

"Ooooh, can we do TV night? We didn't do that in ages! Come on!"

With that, Sherlock plopped himself down on the other end of the sofa and stretched out, laying his legs over Mycroft's lap, his shoes resting on the arm of the sofa. "I just had this cleaned, would you mind your shoes please!" Mycroft growled. "And take your smelly feet off me!"

"No fair," Sherlock whined. "I was getting comfortable." He sat up and took off his shoes. Then he stretched out again, this time with his head in Mycroft's lap. "You're impossible!" the older brother hissed. He gave a put upon sigh, and put a hand on the curly head. "Alright, you know the rules. We switch to a random channel, and then we begin the deductions. Then we can use Google to or any other technology to see who's right. But _not_ before we're finished. Give me you're phone or you'll tempted to cheat."

"What about you? Put your phone away too!" Sherlock protested.

"Well, with the Labour MP's and the Tories about to kill each other and cause the collapse of our government, I think it prudent to keep myself informed." Mycroft sniffed condescendingly.

"No great loss, that," Sherlock commented idly. "You don't need them to continue running the government."

"Perhaps. However, appearances are important, and must be kept up."

"You know, with you being the British Government and all, I would think you could have done me that one little favor I asked of you. How could you be so callous to deny your only brother such an insignificant request?"

"Come now, Sherlock, don't start with that again. There's no way I'm going to conquer an island for you."

"Not even a miniscule one? I'll give you a better offer. A lifetime truce with your government, instead of three years. Please?" Sherlock gave his older brother a puppy dog look.

Mycroft groaned. "Please tell me you're not really that much of an idiot as you sometimes seem like. I thought you like London, anyway."

"Sometimes, but there's all those pesky little rules that annoy me. I'd like to conduct my experiments in peace, without the law looking over my shoulders. I need my privately owned country to do that. Hey, perhaps I could get John to join me, with Rosie... Mrs. Hudson too, of course. We'll fly in for crime scenes. Tell you what, Mycroft, if you ever get tired of swimming with the goldfish, I'll grant you asylum. Otherwise, I'll leave you to run your British Peninsulas."

"That's British Isles, you know that!" Mycroft threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh? There's a difference?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"Forget it. Let's begin. Alright, here, I thing the news anchor is having an affair with this reporter. He was educated at either Harrow's or Eton's but attended a small, less renown college. He was married once before..."

Mycroft continued with his deductions, and Sherlock interjected with his. His head was still lying on Mycroft's lap, turned to face the screen. Mycroft kept his hand lightly atop his hair, feeling an unfamiliar sense of contentment spreading inside him. His brother needed him and trusted him, and he could dream of nothing better.

After two hours of their game, Sherlock got up and prepared to go home.

"By the way, Mycroft, you'll find a nice little box in the pocket of your jacket. Don't lose it."

Mycroft stared at him, his face paling. He quickly put together the puzzle pieces. "I suppose Anthea helped you with that."

"Of course. That girl's quite eager to see you get settled, for some reason," Sherlock smirked. "She probably thinks you'll go soft when you're chained up."

"She doesn't want me going soft, she likes to be challenged." Mycroft grumbled. "So you teamed up against me and bought an engagement ring. What about Alicia?"

"She received a text about a lunchtime date in her favorite restaurant. The staff has been informed to make all the arrangements. You just need to show up and do your part. I'm sure Anthea can teach you if you don't know how."

"Thank you so much, brother mine, for arranging my life for me," Mycroft hissed through clenched teeth. "Do I get any say in this?"

"Go be a man, brother mine," Sherlock looked his brother in the eye. "I dare you."

Mycroft looked at him silently.

"Let me know," Sherlock continued in a gentler tone, and then gracefully made his exit.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** This is the final chapter, with an epilogue to follow. It has been an amazing journey, and I'm sorry it's coming to an end. Thank you to all my amazing readers for you support. I am now officially addicted to reading and writing in this Fandom, and am looking for a Sherlock Fanfiction Anonymous support group to help me deal with it;)

* * *

Mycroft had decided to take the scenic route on the way. The fifteen minutes walk from the Diogenes Club to the _Bon Soir_ would allow him to collect his thoughts. Uncharacteristically, the British Government found his usually organized and precise mind in a tizzy, no doubt influenced by all the emotions he was trying so hard not to feel, to no avail.

In the detective decade and a half of his acquaintance with the erstwhile Lady Smallwood, they had gone through several different stages in their relationship. They were co-workers of sorts, with Mycroft working in several departments behind the scenes, while Alicia climbed the ladder of government leadership. They established a relationship of mutual respect despite their differences. Over the years, the nature of their work necessarily lead to knowing some of each other's deepest, darkest secrets.

Lady Smallwood was one of the few who knew about Eurus and Sherrinford. Likewise, Mycroft was aware of the complicated family issues that lead the Lady to abandon her career as an athlete and marry Lord Smallwood, which consequently lead to her involvement in politics. Needless to say, the Lady was quite familiar with the whirlwind of trouble that Mycroft had the privilege of calling his little brother.

Years of working together, assisting one another, sharing secrets that could not be shared anywhere else. At some undefined point, Lady Smallwood had become something to Mycroft that he would never admit to having: a friend. There relationship remained mostly professional, but the care and concern for each other's wellbeing ran deeper.

It was a testament to his unusual circumstances, Mycroft mused, that Alicia was one of the few who was aware of his medical history. She was the second one to visit him after he suffered from a mild heart attack three years ago, after Anthea, who had stayed with him throughout. The Holmes family were unaware of that incident, just as they were unaware of all the times he was wounded in his early years doing "legwork", and several other times he had landed in the hospital since then. Mycroft hadn't wanted his parents to worry, nor was he eager for their fussing. It was anyone's guess what Sherlock would have done, if anything at all, and Mycroft didn't see the point in involving him.

Their friendship, unspoken as it were, was deeply tried when Mycroft removed Lady Smallwood's security clearance and interrogated her. He was shocked when she not only was willing to forgive him, but sought to move their relationship into new territory. As cautious as he was, he saw no reason to refuse a casual drink, convinced that nothing more would come of it. It surprised and terrified him to realize what how their relationship was developing, and he saw no way out without hurting her once more.

Sherlock was indeed the Virgin, but Mycroft had never let himself go too far with his previous romantic relationships. He was averse to entering a relationship of enduring commitment and unending sentimentality. He couldn't let himself get too involved, he couldn't let himself _care._ Sentimentality was a weakness, and weakness was not something he could afford. He had so many to protect. Sherlock, Eurus, his parents, all the citizens of the United Kingdom. Could he now let some of his barriers down, he wondered, and still stay strong?

He remembered his words to Sherlock, not all that long ago. "Caring is an advantage... You have people to hold your hand as you ride out the waves. Don't make the same mistakes I made, little brother." Could he follow his own advice?

Mycroft arrived at the entrance of his destination, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He allowed himself to imagine what he had once thought impossible. Alicia, greeting him with that special smile on her pretty face, a twinkle in her eye. Both of them sharing their day over dinner, and then retiring to watch romantic comedies, giggling like teenagers. A soft touch on his arm after a hard day. Holding her in his arms when she was looking for comfort. Domestic bliss, ordinary, dull, and a dream come true. He took a deep breath and entered.

* * *

"Why, oh why couldn't you have gotten a picture of that?" Sherlock whined for what seemed to be the millionth time. "You have to at least get Mycroft to dress up again."

"He did look marvelous," Alicia laughed. "With that getup, I just couldn't say no."

"Mycroft," Greg called. "Any tips on a Victorian era ensemble? I hear it's really hot now with the girls."

Mycroft scowled. "You really, really should have kept this quiet," he complained to his fiancée.

"Come on, Mycroft, it's not that bad. Maybe you'll even bring frock coats and top hats back into style, not to mention silver tipped canes," his fiancee teased.

Mycroft sniffed imperiously, and rejoined, "Don't we have a wedding to plan, or something? And, no, we're not doing a Victorian theme."

The newly engaged couple was sitting in the elder Holmes's living room, with friends and family members sitting and sprawling all about the room. It was an official Wedding Planning Event, but there didn't seem much planning going on.

Mildred Holmes kept herself busy serving tea and accompanying delectables, urging everyone to partake. John was bouncing a thoroughly overstimulated Rosie on one knee while listening to Sherlock alternating between mocking everyone around him and whining that he was bored. "Bedtime for all the kids," John announced firmly. "Come on now, Sherlock, it's for your own good." Before Sherlock could reply, the William Holmes had scooped up Watson Junior and offered to do the honors. "Come, Rosie, Uncle William will read you question bedtime story," he wheedled. The little girl happily let herself be led away.

"Alright, Mycroft, you can put me down as best man. Boy do I have some great stories to share!" Sherlock exclaimed eagerly.

" _If_ you behave, I might consider you for ring bearer. If it isn't past your bedtime, that is," the older brother retorted.

"Who else would fill that position?" The consulting detective wondered.

"How about you, Greg?" the prospective bridegroom inquired.

"I'm flattered, really," the DI replied, looking up from his scotch. "But I have a different task to fulfill. Someone needs to keep an eye on that one," he nodded towards Sherlock.

"Of course. And I thank you for volunteering for that. You do have a rather impressive track record in that area," Mycroft said thoughtfully, while his little brother scowled. "I would be honored if you and John can act as groomsmen, at least."

"It would be my privilege. What about you, John?" Greg turned to the doctor.

"I can assist Sherlock with his best man's speech, if that would help," John answered.

"I would get really worried in that case," Mycroft interjected.

"No worries, I'll make sure he only tells the _truth,_ " John retorted.

"And there's the problem," the British Government sighed.

"Boys, boys, do try to get along now," Alicia called out. She was seated next to Mrs. Holmes, looking through fashion magazines and planning the wardrobe of the wedding party. Mycroft smiled at them both, glad that they seemed to be getting along fine with his family. Mildred and William Holmes were thrilled with the new addition to the family, and Alicia had warmed up to them pretty quickly. They developed an easy friendship, unmarred by the complications that still underscored Mycroft's relationship with his parents.

Ironically, of all of Mycroft's acquaintances that he had introduced Alicia to, she had taken the most to Mrs. Hudson. They found they had a lot in common. They had both been quite athletic in their youth, and had spent years trying to look after a Holmes brother. They were both strong, independent women, and quite formidable when a loved one was threatened. They both liked baking as a hobby, and Alicia quite admired Mrs. Hudson's Aston Martin. Both women had remained childless, yet had strong maternal predilections. They both agreed that Rosie Watson was the most adorable toddler in England. Mrs. Hudson was sure to be an honored guest at their wedding.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had decided on a new tactic to annoy the hell out of Mycroft. He sat down next to the prospective bride and flashed her his most charming grin. "It's still not too late to change your mind, you know," he informed her.

"No, I think I'll stick with chartreuse for the bridesmaids," she said absently.

"I meant, that you could still have someone younger, more handsome, and more fit."

"Oh?" she looked up, raising her eyebrows.

"Indeed. Why would you settle for my older, fatter, slower brother, when you could have me?"

Alicia rolled her eyes heavenwards. "If you're looking for someone, just say so. How about your brother's PA? She's a nice girl."

"Who never forgave her mother for naming her Agnes, and never forgave Mycroft for refusing to let her go by Agent A. Not for me," he shrugged.

"Is my little brother pestering you, my dearest?" Mycroft approached them. "If you'll look the other way around moment, I can take care of it."

"No, sweetheart, you don't really want to strangle your brother with your tie. We do need a best man," she responded calmly, turning back to her magazine.

"Ha, the bridegroom is jealous!" Sherock mocked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes in despair and went over to talk with Greg. "How's the family?" he inquired.

"Doing alright. David will be graduating now, and starting a degree in architecture in the fall."

"And how are Katy and Jane?"

Greg wasn't surprised that the British Government remembered his kids' names, even though it took his brother years to remember Greg's own name. He smiled fondly as he thought about his children. "Jane is pretty happy in school, and Katy is finishing up her first degree now. Her dream is to become a veterinarian."

"A fulfilling career, with great opportunities," Mycroft nodded in approval. "What program is she planning to apply for?"

Greg mentioned her most preferred option and then sighed. "I'm afraid that it's a far shot, though. Her grades were not up to par in the beginning, what with the family and personal issues she suffered. Truthfully, I feel guilty about that. I hope I didn't ruin her career."

"I happen to know the dean of that program. He's an old friend of mine."

Greg snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I happen to be due for a chat with him," Mycroft mentioned nonchalantly.

"Mycroft, no, you don't have to..." Greg protested.

"I don't have to what?" Mycroft asked in pretend puzzlement. "I sometimes recommend a student who I feel has potential, and the dean is glad for it. If your daughter is anything like you, she'll be going places."

"Thank you either way, Mycroft. Now, how about we settle down and plan a wedding, eh?"

"With a proper glass of scotch, I just might manage it."

Alicia watched the scene in front of her out of the corner of her eye, while pretending to be engrossed in her magazine. Sherlock and John were laughing at something William had said, while Mildred had joined Greg and Mycroft for a drink.

She observed her fiance chuckling along with his mother and his friend, when he suddenly looked up at her and winked. She felt something warm spread in her chest. Not long ago, her world had crumbled around her when she lost her late husband. The woman who was surrounded by some of the most powerful people in the world had felt very alone. She had few friends, and no family.

Mycroft Holmes had let her into his life, and into his heart (the existence of which many doubted, but never did she.) Through him, she was now gaining something she had lost, and hadn't thought she'd ever find again. As weird as they were wonderful, as annoying as they were amazing, as creative as they were crazy, this was the family she would now have.


	16. Epilogue

**A/N:** This story is now complete, and I'm getting emotional. Originally, this was supposed to be a one-shot! It kept on growing, until I found myself with a full-length story, many reviews, faves and follows. Thank you all for reading!

* * *

 **John Watson's Blog**

 **June 17th, 2017, 7:00 PM**

So I actually attended the wedding of the century, and let me tell you, it wasn't much different from any other one I've attended before. Well, there was a bit of extra security, more than a bit actually, and the venue was quite posh, and the attendees included a high percentage of government officials, including the Prime Minister (I was a bit disappointed that HRH didn't put in an appearance)... but other than thathat, pretty standard.

Things could have gotten boring if it wasn't for our favorite consulting detective, thank God for him. I will present excerpts of his Best Man's speech, along with my commentary in italics. Here goes:

Ladies and gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have your attendance. I haven't had an easy time today, trying to prevent the bridegroom from doing a runner. I have no clue why that is, since he isn't the one getting the raw end of the deal.

Speaking of which, I _did_ warn our lovely bride here, and I even offered her a much better deal. Pity about that Alicia, you don't know what you're missing.

 _He turns around and winks at her (don't ask, mates, just don't), while Mycroft sinks his head into his hands and sighs. He stays that way for most of the speech._

We have witnessed here tonight the union of a well-matched pair, and I will give you examples to prove it.

The bride has both brains and beauty, and the groom has an umbrella. She bakes an excellent pastry, and and he loves to eat them. Speaking of which, the groom has politely requested that certain incidents related to pastry not be mentioned on this occasion.

For example, there was the incident on the morning of Mycroft's twelfth birthday, where Mummy discovered that the cake had disappeared. When the guilty party was discovered, he claimed that he had eaten it all at midnight, at the start of his birthday, when he was perfectly entitled to _his_ birthday cake. His perfectly sound argument notwithstanding, he still didn't get any dessert for a week.

Then there was the time when he ate cream cake from a crystal cake dish, and was too lazy to get up and put it in the sink. His aim wasn't true, and it shattered on the floor. He made me promise not to tell Mummy what really happened, so I didn't. I always keep my word.

 _Sherlock interrupted by his mother, who calls out, "That's not what you told me had happened, Mycroft!" The groom smileso at her sheepishly, and then glares at his brother, who ignores him._

Mycroft has also asked me not to bring up the time he tried out for the school choir. His voice was changing right about then, and he was forever since known in school lore as The Croak. Being that I am a very loyal brother, I'm keeping mum about thatha. See? Not a word.

Now, let'some talk about what a wonderful brother Mycroft is. It's great to have a brother who happens to have a minor position in the British Government. It really is. Who else could have gotten me into Buckingham Palace wearing only a sheet? Who, I ask?

He is extremely magnanimous and I know how much he loves to share, so I don't always bother with pointless things like asking. I do want to show appreciation, so thank you, Mycroft, for those cards, you know which ones I'm talking about, I had a lot of fun using them.

By the way, Ladies and Gentlemen, do not try this at home. Mycroft is extremely protective of his possessions, and any being from any planet who dares to mess with that tends to be obliterated to the extent that no one evem rememberserk it's existence. Only family gets special dispensation.

Speaking of family, I'll be honest over here. I've always said that Mycroft was a rubbish older brother. I stand by my words.

 _Some people gasp in consternation. Others look at him in disapproval._

None, no, don't be like that. I'm just stating the truth. He acted more like my nanny. Always following me around, always wanting to know exactly what I'm doing. He claimed he worried about kind of brother does that? Why can't he just mind his own business?

He's still doing it. He never stopped. He says he worries about me, constantly. He always keeps tabs on me, and comes running to the rescue when he thinks I need his help. I hate to say it, but he _has_ been useful on occasion. His irritating interference has saved me, saved my life, time and again.

Many years ago, Mycroft made a promise to me. He told me that he was there for me, had been there for me before, and he promised me to always be there for me. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, we all know that Mycroft is a man of his word. When he says something, he means it. Keep that in mind the next time he gives you a polite warning. Be aware, he is the most dangerous man you will ever meet.

Back on track, do you know what happened to that promise? He kept It. He was always there. He still is. The earth revolves around the sun, Great Britain is the empire in which the sun never sets, and Mycroft is always there for me, no matter how far I have gone.

I know I cannot do what he does, but I can say this. Mycroft, Alicia, I'm thrilled for you both, and I wish you many, many years of happiness. I am glad to have gained a new family member, especially one who is sure to always take _my_ side. I want you both to be happy, always, and will do my best to ensure that.

 _Most of the audience is tearing up at this point. Handkerchiefs abound._

One more thing that I'd like to say, before you enjoy the scrumptious wedding cake. I see the bridegroom eyeing it already. I have never said this in public before, but I feel that on this occasion it needs to be said.

Thank you, brother mine, for always being there for me.

 _Sherlock then approaches the bride and pecks her on the cheek. Then he pulls the startled groom out of his chair and throws his arms around him._

 _They stand this way for several moments before Mycroot disentangles himself, and sternly tells Sherlock to sit down and stop making a scene. I notice that he is trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes with his monogrammed handkerchief._

 _Blast it. I need to pay up. Sherlock had better that he would make the Great Ice Man cry on his wedding day. Alright, Sherlock, you've won._

* * *

 **June 17th, 7:30 PM**

 _This entry has been deleted due to security concerns._

* * *

 _Text message, to: MH_

Mycroft, what the HELL have you donever to my blog?

JW

* * *

 _To: JW_

Really, Dr. Watson. I was doing you a favor by removing a post riddled with inaccuracies.

As a doctor, you should know when one is suffering from an allergic reaction to flowers as opposed to suffering from sentimentality.

MH


End file.
